Ad Infinitum
by clay12345
Summary: Set during and after "I Kissed a Girl." Rated M for possible future scenes. Rizzoli/Isles. ad infinitum: again and again in the same way; forever.
1. Hello Again

**I don't own anything.**

**Hello Again - Lostprophets**

**"It's the foghorn I hate. It won't let you alone. It keeps reminding you, and warning you, and calling you back... But it can't tonight. It's just an ugly sound. It doesn't remind me of anything." - Mary Tyrone in O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night.**

The bottle of Sam Adams stared Jane Rizzoli in the eyes. If you looked hard enough, the little beads of perspiration did kind of look like eyes. And they were staring. Hard. So Jane Rizzoli took the bottle and let the bitter liquid pour down her throat.

Frost and Korsak had already left with all the other officers when they had exhausted the list of prospective women. None of them fit the bill. The blonde was too clueless. The tall brunette was afraid of her own shadow. And none of them sparked any sort of gut feeling. But Maura would go back to the lab any way and make sure all of those damn cups were processed. No guesses. She had to be sure.

Nevertheless, Jane stayed behind at the club. With old Sam. None of the other officers even shrugged when she mentioned staying.

"You guys go home," she said. "There's a couple more things I need to check out."

She watched them all leave, one by one, dragging with them all the gear they had brought. Korsak left first. Then Frost, never straying more than a foot from all the computers and their goddamn wires.

And then she watched Maura leave. Glasses in tow.

"Please don't tell me you're going to hover over those poor nerds until they have all those glasses logged," Jane said, her arms crossed.

"Okay. I won't."

Maura was so matter-of-fact. Jane smiled at the memory.

So an hour later, Jane was sitting hunched over the bar in front of a rather pleased bartender, left with nothing but a beer in hand and memories of Maura strutting away in that short, short dress. Jane twisted her tongue over in her mouth, trying desperately to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.

She found another bottle of beer in her hands. A colder bottle… A bottle so cold it bit the skin wrapped around her fingers. Her head throbbed in time to the club's music, her chest suddenly feeling much too small for her lungs and her vision starting to tunnel. No. She couldn't forget that image of Maura walking out the door. And there it was. She could almost see the image tug at her imagination, spitefully eliciting a single thought.

The yoga teacher. Tonight he'd probably rip that small little dress right off. He'd rest his hands on her body and become her world.

Jane Rizzoli gripped the edge of the bar tighter, her jaw tense. The people around her, their words, their movements… Everything seemed so far away. Small. Slow. Surreal. Everything except for the loud, pumping music that suddenly seemed to dictate her breathing.

"I'm glad you stayed," smirked the bartender. "You feeling adventurous, yet?"

"Maybe after another beer."

"I can arrange that. Easily."

Jane flashed a smile. True, it was a forced smile, but not many would really notice. _Maura would notice_, she thought.

"I'll take a rain check. You look… busy anyway."

The memories of the day settled in Jane's head, even as she began to push herself off the stool. She remembered Maura's outfit. The tights. Those tights. She remembered Maura leaning over the table and suddenly finding her cleavage hard to look away from. And then there was that speech she gave. About that sweater and those shoes. Jane couldn't help but feel the corners of her mouth twitch.

She approached the blonde she had had her eyes on since everyone had left. The buzz from all the beer was starting to get to her. Everything was fuzzy. Really fuzzy. But it felt good. Better than good. Because, suddenly, as her body absorbed more and more of the alcohol, that knotting pain in her chest began to subside. For one night, the pain would be pushed down.

"Hi," she said.

"Oh… Hello."

"I'm Jane."

Jane lifted up her beer in a shrug and flashed over a smile.

"Sarah." The girl laughed, moving in closer to the detective.

"You know, I'm not really good at this."

"Well I saw you with all those girls earlier. You sure you're not good at this?"

"I'm alone now, aren't I?"

"True. Let me guess. You're new at all of this. Fresh out."

"I don't think I would put it that way."

The girl laughed again; "Here, let me help you. When you approach a girl, think about what a guy would do when he approaches you. I'm sure you've got plenty of material to work with."

"Um… Alright. Uh…"

"Okay, let's make this easier. Buy me a drink…" the girl leaned in closer to Jane's ear, using a nearby table as leverage as she balanced on her toes. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "And take me to your place. We'll dive right in."

"W-what?"

"Well would you rather wade into cold water, or would you rather cannonball right in?" She paused. "You look like the type who'd rather jump the hell in. So let's even skip that drink."

Jane chugged the last of her beer as she let the girl lead her out of the club, feeling more and more buzzed with each step. And all she could do was frown when she remembered the previous night. _I'm not her type? Of course I'm not her type. Get over yourself, Rizzoli. Do not screw it all up. Not again. Not now._


	2. Plus Ones

**Don't own anything.**

**Plus Ones - Okkervil River**

**"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther... And one fine morning - ****So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." - The Great Gatsby**

Moans. When Maura opened the door to the apartment, that's what she heard. Moans. Female moans. Heated moans. Definitely Jane's moans. So she froze. She didn't back away, and she didn't inch forward. She froze. The only thing that moved was the blush beginning to creep across her face.

It was late. Very late. But this wasn't the first time Maura showed up at Jane's doorstep at an hour like this. And Jane had certainly showed up at Maura's door just as late.

But this? This was a first.

The files in her hand were dangerously close to scattering all over the floor, but Maura hardly noticed. She hardly even remembered that she was holding files at all, and that the reason she was even in Jane's apartment to begin with was to discuss the recent results of the lab tests. Maura wanted to be the one to tell the detective.

_Is it Jorge in there? That's strange. I thought Jane didn't like Jorge. Well she seems to like him just fine now._

And that's when the second largest surprise of the night hit her. Like a two by four to the head.

"You like that?"

The voice, the other voice, the voice that was not Jane's, was definitely also female. The pitch, the tone, the everything. That was definitely a female voice. The bed creaked through the door.

"Yes… God, yes…"

Jane's husky voice clearly reverberated out through the apartment.

"Don't stop… Keep going…. Oh god… Shit…"

_That is not Jorge. That is not Jorge at all._

Maura Isles suddenly wished she had kept Jane's words further in the forefront of her mind, desperately wishing she hadn't worn heels. Forgotten files in hand, she slowly closed the door, and exhaled only when the familiar click of a shut door echoed through the empty hall.

She walked away, as fast as her heels would let her.

* * *

><p>"Late night, Rizzoli?"<p>

"Shut up, Korsak. Don't speak so loud. No. Scratch that. Don't speak."

"You know, if you were smart you would've been like me and stayed home."

Jane groaned. She couldn't remember anything from last night. Nothing. Everything that happened after she ordered that first beer was a blank. Squinting, she let her fingers fumble across the keyboard until she was able to finally dim her usually bright computer screen.

"Better," she said, slowly lowering her head onto her desk. "I hate it when this happens."

"You look worse than barf-bag here after he's seen a corpse!" laughed Korsak.

"Leave him alone, Korsak. Leave me alone too. That would make my day."

The clicks of heels against floor was unmistakable. In fact, the beat of her particular set of feet against this particular length of floor was unmistakable. Jane slowly peeked her head out of the small cave she had made out of her arms.

"Hi Maura."

"Good morning, Jane."

To say the least, Maura seemed expectant. Of something. Of apparent importance. Hell, it was written plain across that face of hers: her eyes wide open like that, her head slightly cocked to the side, her hands neatly folded across her lap…

"What is it, Maura?"

"Well, I think you have something to tell me."

"About…?"

"I thought it was obvious," Maura replied, with a smile. Innocently.

"No, Maura. It's not."

The doctor leaned in; "About yesterday?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," groaned Jane. She settled her head back onto the desk, muffling her voice. "And I'm too tired! My head hurts."

"C'mon Jane! You're not telling me something!"

"We can talk later," she whined. "I don't have coffee yet."

"Oh well, good thing I brought this."

Jane winced when she heard a thick thump shake through her head. She lifted her head, letting the fluorescent light inch into her eyes one particle at a time, cautiously scoping out what it was exactly that had hit the surface of her desk.

She could feel the heat from the Box o' Joe graze her cheek. Her chin resting on her forearm, she couldn't help but let a small smile spread across her face.

"What kind of person are you?"

"The good kind?" offered Maura.

Jane reached across her desk until her fingers finally found the lip to one of her mugs. She tipped it towards herself and dragged it, eventually filling it with the hot brew.

"I'm going to drink this," she said. And then playfully; "but I'm not telling you anything."

"Jane!"

"Already feeling better." Jane forced, tipping her mug towards Maura. "Now let's get started on this case. I want sleep."

Those words were all it took to send Korsak rolling in on his chair.

"About time. Now what do we got?"

"None of the prints are a match," said Maura.

Though the results were exactly as she expected, Jane flinched; "Damn it! None of them? Not even that creepy girl?"

"No."

"Fine. Maura, you were walking around. Did you see _anyone_ who coulda done this?"

"I can't make that assumption!"

"Well then I won't tell you… whatever it is I'm supposed to be telling you."

"Jane!"

"Please Maura? I want to go home and sleep…"

"There's no way to know. I can't know."

"Well I guess I can just… not know that thing. That you want to know."

Maura fumbled, rippling her fingers through a nearby stack of papers.

"There was that bartender. Her facial musculature manifested micro-expressions that are congruent with that of someone who's attempting deception."

"What?"

"She was probably lying, Jane."

"Let's see if she's a match then! Jane, you go."

"No, you go. I don't want to go."

Korsak shook his head, eyeing the Box o' Joe; "There's no way I'm getting up. I've got coffee to finish."

"Frost?"

"No way, Jane. I can't. I'm still processing paperwork."

"Just go," Korsak said, smugly. "Besides. That bartender has got the hots for you."

"Fine, fine. I'm leaving." Jane drained the last of her coffee before pulling herself up. She flashed a smile at the rest of the detectives. "But I'm taking this with me."

"Hey!"

With that Jane was out of the room, the coffee sloshing around in the cardboard box in her hand. Of course, by the time she reached her car, Jane wanted nothing more than to throw up. Again. _More coffee. Right now_.

As she drove away back towards the club that had ate away at her night, Jane's mind drifted back to the recent conversation.

"Shit. What the hell was Maura talking about?"

* * *

><p>"Here," said Jane, pulling away her hair to reveal her neck. "Swab. Process. Do your thing."<p>

Maura did as she was told, albeit slightly confused. The cotton swab was handed over to one of the lab assistants.

"So," prompted Maura.

"What?"

"I gave you a guess. A guess, Jane."

"And?"

"Your turn."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Talk."

"I really don't know what you're talking about."

"How about last night?"

"What about last night?"

"Why did you stay behind at the club?"

"I was checking around." Jane's answer was quick. And terse.

"Oh. So nothing happened last night?"

"No. nothing happened, Maura."

The lying came easier than Jane thought. _There's no way she can know, anyway. I don't even know most of what happened. All I remember is sending that girl off this morning._ She looked away from Maura.

"Why won't you tell me?"

The lightness of the conversation suddenly weighed down. Weighed way down. And Jane didn't move. She hardly breathed for fear of shattering the air that seemed to have solidified around the two women.

"I just can't, okay?"

"Why not?"

The coffee had already begun working, full blast, on Jane, and with the pain of the hangover leaving her mind, it only made way from the old pain she had been trying to drown away in the first place.

"Jane…"

"You know what, Maura. I'm not like you. No matter what you say, I'm not part of your world, and I can't be."

"What is this about, Jane? Is this still about the Fairfields? I thought we moved past this!"

"No. It's not about that. It's… about something more. You said it yourself, Maura. Before. I'm not your type."

"I didn't mean…"

"I know what you meant. I just… I can never shake the feeling that I'm not good enough. That I'm not good enough to be around you. To be… here. It hurts, Maura." There was a pause. And this time, it was Maura who didn't move. Jane softened. "You know what? Forget I said anything."

"Doctor Isles?" The voice came from behind Maura. "Doctor Isles, the DNA sample you just gave me. It's a match."

"Look, I'm going to go process that bartender. I gotta go."

"Jane!" Maura called out to the back of the detective, who was already half-way out that door. "I have your back. I do."

"Not with this, Maura. Not with this."

Jane left.


	3. Written in Heart Signs, Faintly

**I don't own anything.**

**Written in Heart Signs, Faintly - Throw Me The Statue**

**"Guys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the world. They got no family. They don't belong no place. They come to a ranch an' work up a stake and then they go inta town and blow their stake, and the first thing you know they're poundin' their tail on some other ranch. They ain't got nothing to look ahead to... With us it ain't like that. We got a future. We got somebody to talk to that gives a damn about us. We don't have to sit in no bar room blowin' in our jack jus' because we got no place else to go. If them other guys gets in jail they can rot for all anybody gives a damn. But not us." - George Milton to Lennie from Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men.**

It was painfully obvious how long it had been. But Korsak and Frost knew better than to utter a single word about it. Not to each other, not to Maura, and certainly not to Jane. Of course, it wasn't longer than five days ago when Korsak had taken the initiative to make the trip to the morgue.

_She handed him the file._

"_This is what you've come for, yes?"_

"_Yeah, 'course I did. Uh, are you okay?"_

"_Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"_

_But Maura Isles could never lie. It was clear; you didn't need to know all the fancy face science to tell. It didn't hurt, of course, that Vince Korsak was detective. A seasoned one at that._

"_I know Jane hasn't been down here for a while. Hell I don't even see her very much these days. Light caseload and all."_

_Maura looked away, and when she did, Korsak could barely look at her himself. He hated to see women upset. And he hated to see women cry. Tough Boston streets? No problem. Midnight beat patrols? Done. Meth lab busts? Taken on with all the necessary dosages of bravado and balls. But a crying woman? That Korsak could hardly handle._

"_Listen," he said. "Folks like Jane and me, we have problems communicating. It just ain't in our DNA. Can't help it. She just gotta know that you got her back no matter what."_

"_I do. I told her that I do."_

"_Well then you wait. Give her time, Maura. Whatever it is she needs figuring out, she'll come around. I promise." He put his hand up in the air. "Scout's honor."_

Maura couldn't shake the truth away. She couldn't shake away the fact that she hadn't spoken to Jane Rizzoli in days. Weeks. They were only floors away, but it felt to her as if Jane had moved away and it had been years.

Every day, Maura would now leave work far too late, desperately avoiding the idea of returning to her empty apartment. But she'd leave the morgue despite the pit in her stomach, and take a right instead of a left out of the department headquarters so as to avoid the bar Jane and the others so often frequented. And she'd walk into her apartment, flip on the lights, and feed Bass.

The streetlights flickered. Dogs barked. People yelled. She hadn't even realized that, upon leaving the supermarket, she had taken all the wrong turns. She turned her head and saw the short set of steps she had climbed so many times all so she could rap her fists against Jane's door.

But now she saw someone else walk up those very same steps. Maybe a neighbor. Probably a neighbor. Jane was close behind. Okay, so not a neighbor. Maura watched as Jane, struggling to even walk in a straight line, trip up the stairs. Maura watched as Jane placed her hand on the blonde's hip, eyes glued to the impressive cleavage. And Maura watched as Jane drunkenly fumbled to get the door open. The blonde walked in first. Jane could hardly make it through the door frame.

Maura had never seen Jane this… _inebriated_.

But more than that, Maura had never before felt the feeling that had begun to pull and tug incessantly at that cavity between her heart and her right lung.

* * *

><p>Jane woke up to the sun glaring down into her eyes and to another searing hangover. A hangover that seemed to be frequenting her a lot recently. Jane checked her bed. Then the floor. Then the bathroom.<p>

"Good," she breathed. "She's gone. Thank god."

The bed thereafter held Jane in. Today was her second day off. The Sunday of her weekend, so to speak. Except that it was Wednesday. She did, of course, have Tuesday off, so for all intents and purposes, it was indeed her weekend.

The encyclopedia on her desk was still open on her desk from yesterday, bookmarked to some big term Maura had used weeks ago. Jane had read the first volume through and through and had studied it just as intensely as she had her Police Academy materials. That had become an integral part of her life, apparently. Encyclopedias, beer, and girls.

What exquisite living.

_It's for the better_, she thought. _No regrets_. And she held on to the only image she had of Maura from the past couple of long, hard weeks. The image of her smiling as some other detective brought a handful of flowers of the autopsy they were to discuss.

The detective was hot. That was clear enough. Beyond that, Jane knew him too. Young. Smart. Athletic. A rising star. He had money too. Good money. Old money. Just like Maura. Perfect for Maura. Just her type.

The cell phone began to slide around across the bedside table, the dull ringtone vibrating through the wooden surface. Jane grabbed the phone before the second ring even had the time to start.

"Rizzoli." And then a reluctant pause. "Alright. I'll be there."

* * *

><p>For as long as possible, Jane sat in her car, her arms unwilling to push open her door and her legs unwilling to even step out. She had parked far enough away to be overlooked, but there in the distance she could see the crime scene tape. She could see Frost lingering around the scene, doing all he could to look away from the body. And she could see Maura. Ducking beneath the tape, a nearby officer snatching a look.<p>

_There's a body over there, Rizzoli_. She thought. _Go do your fucking job._

Slowly, Jane stepped out, and there began what felt like the longest walk she could possibly take.

"What do we got?" she said as she struggled to get past the crime scene tape.

Her husky voice came out weak. She flinched as it wavered.

"One vic," Frost blurted, as quickly as possible. The tension made his skin itch. "A couple of runners saw this guy…" he pointed, but didn't look, at the body. "…freaked and then called us."

"Alright." Her voice was still weak. "Why don't you go over and talk to those runners. Scram."

Frost's face immediately relaxed as he shot over to Jane the most grateful look he could muster before scuttling away. But, looking over to her side, already Jane regretted the decision.

Maura couldn't help but notice the bags that had collected beneath Jane's eyes. She couldn't help but notice how uncharacteristically quite her voice was or that little waver that had begun to touch her words. She couldn't help but notice that faint smell of alcohol on Jane's skin, the kind of smell that only accumulated after countless days of drinking.

Furiously, she looked down at the body in front of her.

The words that left her tongue were frantic; "Male, twenty-one, Caucasian…"

"Maura…" Jane's pained voice had gotten closer.

Maura didn't dare look.

"Lacerations across the body, defensive wounds on his hands and arms…"

"Maura…" Again Jane's pained voice grew closer. Maura could hear the detective plead.

And then she felt herself involuntarily shake; "I miss you," she said. "I miss you, Jane."

But as closer as Jane had gotten, she did not crouch down with Maura as she had usually been accustomed to do. Her arms were glued to her side, her legs tense, and her torso so rigid it almost swayed with the light breeze.

"If you keep locking your knees like that," Maura said quietly. "You'll pass out on the body."

Jane visibly relaxed.

"How… have you been?" Maura was the first to speak again.

"Okay." Jane ran her fingers through her hair, her hand stopping short at the knots. "You?"

A pause.

"Lonely."

Jane felt her heart break. Shatter. She felt her body break down. Collapse. Maura didn't blink. She couldn't. That lump she knew so well had already begun to gather in her throat, and she was more than aware that any single movement her muscles made would set everything off.

She could suddenly smell Jane. Not just the faint tinge of alcohol, but _Jane_. She did not even turn her head to look; the simple presence of the detective reverberated through her body, alerting her.

Her voice was still the same as before: weak, shaky, quiet, pained; "Please don't cry," she said. "I'm so sorry… Just… Please don't cry…."

Jane brought her hand close to Maura's face, but there it hovered. Maura could feel the warmth radiate off from the hand. She could feel the awkward fear, too.

"Every surface is covered in electrons," she blurted. "And every electron carries the same charge, so they constantly repel each other."

The left corner of Jane's mouth twitched up; "English, Maura."

The voice was still week, quiet, and pained. It had lost that small shaky quality. Maura blinked, and the lump in her throat rose.

"It means we never actually touch anything."

Jane's hand was already on Maura's face, her palm resting on her cheek, her thumb wiping away the tears. Slowly, Maura began to lean into her hand, deepening the contact.

Jane winced.

"I missed you, Jane."

"I know."

Jane took her hand back, the pain in her chest growing and growing. It felt as though someone had started to blow a balloon in her heart… and wouldn't stop. Quietly, the two began to throw their focus into the body in front of them, both still painfully aware of the proximity of the other.

It was the first time Jane had the chance to get a good look at the body, to see the high and tight haircut. The clean shaven face. The large, thick bruises that had formed across that clean shaven face.

"Hold on," said Jane, her brow furrowing. She used her now gloved hands to pull at the necklace that settled beneath the shirt. She snapped at the crime scene investigators, motioning them to come over with their cameras and baggies. "Dog tags…. We got an ID. We're looking at… Schindler…. A.R. Schindler." She paused again before bringing the tag closer to her face. "Branch: USMC."

"Which technically makes this our jurisdiction."

Jane looked up and caught glimpse of the man that now towered above her. The suit stuck out to her like a sore thumb. But she couldn't help but notice that the man didn't wear a tie, or that belt buckle was a large, chrome replica of a revolver cylinder.

"Special Agent Michael Colbert. NCIS. That over there is my partner; Special Agent James Fick."

"Doesn't matter. You're still a fed." She had gotten up, now. "Let me guess, you're here to take the case?"

"Believe it or not, no," he said. Jane's eyebrow shot up. "We're letting you take point on this one. We need all hands on deck here, and believe me, this is not the only issue we're having. You look good enough for the job, but let me tell you…" Colbert's voice grew gruff. "…that boy is a Marine. You take care of him and make sure this is done right."

"The hell you're keeping me behind this tape!"

Jane, Maura, and Colbert glanced up to see the large man yelling at the now frightened officer. The man was in full digital camouflage, and he was not happy.

"You are going to let me through, you hear?" He turned to Colbert, and his voice significantly lowered in decibel. "You're the agent on board, aren't you? 1st Lieutenant Daly. That boy's one of mine."

"Let him through," said Jane.

Daly walked straight to the body, his brow furrowing with each step; "Fuck."

"You mind telling us his full name?"

"Corporal Allen Schindler."

"I'm sorry for your loss…"

"Don't apologize to me, ma'am. Apologize to his mother. He's on his way to his third deployment. He just finished up his second. In Afghanistan. And this is how he dies. Ma'am, you tell me how that's right."


	4. Just To See You Smile

**I don't own anything.**

**Just To See You Smile - Tim McGraw**

**"We humans do, when the cause is sufficient, spend our lives. We throw ourselves onto the grenade to save our buddies in the foxhole. We rise out of the trenches and charge the entrenched enemy and die like maggots under a blowtorch. We strap bombs on our bodies and blow ourselves up in the midst of our enemies. We are, when the cause is sufficient, insane." - Orson Scott Card**

Maura had already finished sewing the body back up when Jane walked down with the two cans of tuna.

"Lunch?" she asked, meekly.

"That would be wonderful."

Jane popped open the two cans as Maura slipped off the scrubs and latex gloves. Gladly, she took the can and began to eat, slowly chewing as the juice swirled around her tongue. Jane watched with cautious amusement.

"Cause of death is blunt force trauma."

"No shit. His head was practically smashed in. Time of death?"

"Between two and three this morning. Some of these lacerations are post-mortem." Maura paused to take another bite of tuna. "There are also markings around his wrists and ankles. They're very deep."

Jane looked in closer at the markings Maura referenced; "So he was bound? With rope?"

"That's an assumption."

"It's a hunch."

The two fell into a silence, and neither could tell whether the silence was comfortable or simply awkward. The only sound in the room was the low whirr of the fluorescent lights and the scraping of spoon against tin.

"So I hear you're seeing someone." Jane regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

"Well yes… I suppose so. There always seem to be plenty of males who want to hook in to me."

"Hook up, Maura. The term is hook up."

"Oh…"

"What's his name?" Too late to go back now.

"Ian. We met before college. Our parents are very good friends, and we ended up going to BCU together. I didn't even know he became a police officer until two weeks ago."

"I thought you liked that yoga teacher."

"That was just a fling."

"Okay."

"What about you?"

Maura regretted her words almost as much as Jane did. She regretted them even more when she saw the wince flash across Jane's face. But the expression was gone as soon as it arrived.

"Nothing special."

It was then when Maura saw again the darkening circles that had made their home around Jane's now sunken eyes. It was then when she saw the muscles of Jane's jaw constantly twitch and tighten, and it was then that she noticed that Jane's hands, when not in use, never left her pockets.

"Good," she ventured. "I have an idea."

"Oh no," joked Jane, meekly.

"Ian and I are going on a date tonight. He said he has a friend who'd be perfect for you."

"No. No no no no. No way."

"He's a doctor..."

"Is he a nurse?"

"No."

"Because if he's like Jorge… That was a disaster, Maura."

"He's not like Jorge. I asked."

"You asked?"

"Yes, I did. Now please, Jane? Please?"

"I don't know, Maura…"

"C'mon, Jane. Please?"

And there it was. The expression. The voice. The combination of which she couldn't deny. Ever. Jane let a small smile touch her face, at Maura's expense. She let a sigh leave her lips, and she let her shoulders fall in acceptance. She let her body show all the indicators of the truth.

"Fine, Maura. I'd love to."

Jane knew that she would hate every moment of that double date. It was more than a hunch. It was not an assumption. It was a fact that Jane was one hundred per cent sure about. But in that one moment, in that one second, Jane did not give one damn about it. The smile that spread across Maura's face, and the elation that flooded over her eyes, made it all worth it.

_Just to see you smile_, Jane thought. _The things that I would do for you, Maura Isles. The things that I would do…_

Frost ran into the morgue.

"Uh… Oh God." Frost had caught glimpse of the sewn up corpse on the table. He put a hand on his stomach as he leaned over a little. "Special Agent Colbert's here. He wants to see you, Jane."

"I'll be right up."

Frost ran out of the morgue.

Jane grabbed the two empty tuna tins and made her way towards the door, briefly stopping at the trash. Quickly, she looked over her shoulder to the still smiling Maura. _Making beautiful women smile_, she thought to herself. _I guess that's something I've always loved to do._

"Are you coming?"

* * *

><p>"I brought by some visitors," said Colbert, the moment Jane and Maura walked into the squad room. "These are the men in his platoon. You met 1st Lieutenant Daly."<p>

Colbert and Daly both had their covers off, now that they were indoors. They're high and tights were impeccable.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, for my outburst this morning. It was unacceptable."

"No, I understand. You were upset."

"Well, these boys are here to be interviewed. Fick and I just wanted to drop them off before we left. And Jane?" He motioned her closer and spoke to her in a whisper. "We're all stationed on the USS Belleau Wood, and we've only been here for a couple days so far, but we've only got a week before we all ship back out to Afghanistan. This case needs to be closed A.S.A.P."

"Got it."

Colbert and Fick – who Jane had not heard speak even once – both left, their long strides taking them out of the building in the quickest manner possible.

Jane took the platoon into one of the larger rooms, motioning Maura to step inside with them. Maura smiled, clearly delighted. Daly, on the other hand, stepped out.

"I'll wait for them out here," he said.

The eleven of them sat down, their covers all in their laps. They were all in the Marine Corps trademark camouflage.

"What can you tell me about Allen Schindler?" she started.

The Marines looked each other, their eyes expectant when finally falling upon one of the leaner of the group. He wasn't what Jane expected of an older Marine.

"Schindler was a good man, ma'am," he said. "One of the best. A lot of these boys looked up to him. There's no doubt he was a good Marine."

"What does that mean?"

"It means there is no Marine that doesn't like the kid."

"But he was murdered."

The Marines shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Frustration. Maura logged the emotion in her memory. She'd tell Jane later.

"Ma'am, Schindler rode in the truck behind mine. With 2nd squad. You know what's a common insurgent tactic, ma'am? Set up an IED, blow up the convoys and engage the survivors in a firefight. It's a fucking hellhole, ma'am. Well we get hit with one of them IEDs. Our two trucks get blown into high hell. And he's still got his finger stuck on that machine gun trigger, just drawing all the attention to him. So the insurgents, they shoot at the guy with the big gun. The 50-cal. Everyone can get to the med-evac, and we don't lose a single Marine. That's the kind of man he was, ma'am."

"What about the rest of you?"

"The same as gunny says, ma'am. He had all our backs. He was freaking funny too."

The Gunnery Sergeant gave the whole platoon a nod, as if he were a father letting his children know they could speak freely.

"He was my squad leader, ma'am," said another Marine. The boy was younger, probably nineteen. "We were taking sniper fire once, and it was one of them good snipers. Well we couldn't get out of the bunker, and they didn't know where this goddamn sniper was, so everything was real tense. Corporal Schindler just takes his M-16 and holds it up like this." The young Marine demonstrated a commando-style position. "tells us 'Fuck this shit," stands right up, and yells out with his gun swinging, 'C'mon you son of a bitch! Where you at? Where you at?'"

The Marines laughed at the memory.

"We thought he was gonna get shot," piped in another Marine. "But I guess that was the point, wasn't it?"

"The sniper went away after that. Didn't have the guts to shoot."

"Ma'am, we got nothing bad to say about Corporal Schindler."

Jane smiled; "I'm not saying you should. But is there any reason someone would want to hurt him?"

And then there was the pause. And the snatched glances. Deception. Maura logged that emotion too. The way they touched the back of their necks, for one. That she would also tell Jane.

"No, ma'am. There's nothing."

"Alright," Jane said, slowly. "But if any of you think of anything, I want you to call me."

They all rose from their seats, putting their covers into their left hands, and filed out of the room one by one. The younger Marine that had spoken earlier stopped at the door next to Jane.

"Corporal Schindler saved me life, ma'am. You'll catch whoever did this, right?"

"Don't expect anything less."

"Thank you, ma'am."

* * *

><p>"I hope you shaved."<p>

"Maura!"

Jane nudged her friend with her shoulder, slightly incredulous. But just slightly. She should've saw it coming.

"Well he's a _real_ doctor, Jane. He works in E.R. and he's nothing like Jorge."

Jane spoke out of the corner of her mouth; "he better not be."

"Maura, it's nice to see you again."

Ian. Jane glared at a hair that seemed to stick out of the man's head. Dark hair. Long. For a guy, anyway. And probably still wearing that badge on his belt. He was one of the fraud boys. Worse than the drug boys.

"And how's my detective doing?" smiled Maura.

Silently, Jane wished that Maura had chosen the yoga teacher. Silently.

"You must be Jane," said the other man.

"Yes. That… is me. Jane. Hi."

"Charlie. I'm Ian's friend."

He stuck his hand out towards her.

"No… kidding," she said. She took her hand and patted him on the back.

A host then brought the four to their tables, the two men going in first. Jane quickly turned over to Maura, her teeth shut and only the corner of her mouth moving; "Maura… He's short!"

"Shh! They'll hear you!"

"Fine, fine!"

Dinner didn't go badly, per se. Of course, Jane could hardly believe her eyes when she looked down at the selection on the menu. Everything was expensive. Overpriced. And when the food did arrive, as good as it was, it was much too rich for her. Too thick. She would've liked a good hamburger instead.

But Maura was right. There really wasn't anything wrong with Charlie. Apart from the fact that he was 5'2" and much too short. Nevertheless, he was funny. Nice. Charming. He, too, was practically married to his job, though he clearly had the money to not be. And sure enough, he was nothing like Jorge.

Jane did not care.

All she noticed was the way Ian held Maura's hand, the way he smiled at her, and the way she genuinely smiled back. It was the last that killed her. The she smiled for him, for something that he did. No. It shouldn't be Ian holding Maura's hand; it should be Jane. It shouldn't be him smiling at her; it should be Jane. And that smile. Maura should not be giving that smile to Ian; she should be giving it to Jane.

After dessert, the two men left the restaurant; "We'll get the cars," said Charlie, with a smile. "You ladies wait here. It's cold out."

As soon as they were out of ear shot, Maura turned to Jane; "Well?"

"I don't know, Maura…"

"He's nice! And handsome. And nothing at all like Jorge. His gluteus maximus is also well-formed."

"Maura! Well… I…"

And there it was. That look. Pleading. Hopeful. Expectant. Like a kid camping out in front of the chimney on Christmas day, a plate of cookies in her lap, just wishing for a single, fleeting glance of Santa.

"I think he's great," Jane said.

Maura smiled. Like a kid actually getting to see Santa Claus. Jane had rarely felt this cocktail of emotions: of love and pain, of dislike and like, of devastation and happiness. But that was what she felt at that exact moment: devastated that Maura smiled for another, but elated – absolutely elated – that Maura smiled at all.

"So you'll go home with him, then."

"Maura!"

And Jane did go home with Charlie. And Maura with Ian. And as the cars drove into the Boston night, Jane did her absolute best to think of nothing but Maura's smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Just want to take this moment to talk about Sgt. Joseph Garrison (USMC) who died in combat operations in Afghanistan on 6 June 2011. The sniper story is true. Sgt. Garrison stuck his head out of the bunker to bait the sniper, and if the sniper shot and killed Garrison, his Marines would know where the sniper was. The sniper did not shoot. War can breed bad people. But what we oftentimes forget is how war breeds heroes.<strong>


	5. World Full Of Hate

**World Full Of Hate - Dropkick Murphys**

**"Let me not to the marriage of true minds / Admit impediments. Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds, / Or bends with the remover to remove: / O no! it is an ever-fixed mark / That looks on tempests and is never shaken; / It is the star to every wandering bark, / Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. / Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks / Within his bending sickle's compass come: / Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, / But bears it out even to the edge of doom. / If this be error and upon me proved, / I never writ, nor no man ever loved." - Shakespeare, Sonnet 116.**

Everyone has that one person they can't read. No matter how trained they are in the science of it, and no matter how intuitive the skill might be, everyone had that one person. Excluding, of course, all those women who had botox injected. Their faces, at least, were hard to read, simply because their faces refused to even make the smallest micro-expression.

Jane Rizzoli was Maura's person.

And Maura didn't know what it was that caused Jane to be so infuriatingly difficult to read in the first place. _Perhaps I have too much emotional investment. It's not as if Jane is an easy person to read to begin with. I've only made a difficult task even more difficult._

Nevertheless, Maura convinced herself that Jane had left the restaurant happy. Despite just how difficult Jane Rizzoli was to read, Maura was, in fact, able to catch that single fleeting micro-expression of contentment. Which was likely caused by the general success of the double-date.

_Jane would be proud_, she thought, as she stared out into Boston from behind the window of her apartment. _I have made an estimate. It was a well-calculated assessment, of course, with much more complex variables than one of those gut feelings._

"What are you thinking about?"

Maura felt hands wrap around her waist and felt the chin rest on her shoulder, weighing down.

"Jane."

"Is something bothering you?"

"Do you think Charlie liked her?"

"She has a pulse, doesn't she?"

"Of course she has a pulse. Why would you insinuate otherwise?"

Ian laughed; "I forgot how literal you are. It was a joke, Maura."

"Oh… I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I missed this."

A silence fell upon the couple. Maura wished that she could move. It was her skin; it itched to breathe. It itched to breathe anywhere else than it that position. And simply because of her deep inexperience, the realization that the particular feeling she was feeling could only be described as awkward and uncomfortable did not hit her at all. All she knew was that she wanted to move. But she didn't.

"You know," he said. "If it hadn't been for Garrett, we could have hadsomething going? The two of us? I have more money than that prick, you know. Fairfield or no Fairfield, I would've been the right decision. He was the wrong one."

"I didn't date Garrett because of his money, Ian. You should know better than that. And Garrett turned out to be a murderer. So I suppose you _would've _been the better decision."

"Of course, I am."

"Well he was jealous of you. At times. He didn't like you."

"Your parents like me."

"My parents are not good indicators of anything, Ian. They liked Garrett, too. Maybe even more."

"So he has a better last name. Your parents still like me, which is probably more than any of your other past _flings_ can say. That, and I'm not a murderer."

Ian fell quiet again before speaking; "I feel like we're in high school again, Maura. You at that boarding school, and me at the other. Spending vacations at that condo your parents let us stay in. The letters… Remember all that, Maura?"

"Of course, I do." She paused. "Would you like to watch some T.V.?"

"And watch what?"

"It's ten-o-clock."

"So?"

"I believe the Celtics…" Maura pronounced the word with a hard 'K' sound. "…are playing tonight. I thought you might wanted to have watched."

Ian laughed as he pulled away from Maura.

"You've gained a sense of humor, Maura." He began to walk away, still smiling. "I'm going to go to bed now. Join me when you're ready."

Maura felt her shoulders relax, her skin finally breathing. She did not move.

* * *

><p>Jane, Frost, and Korsak stared at the board that stood in front of them in the bullpen. They stared with the utmost focus. Of course, this stare was nevertheless utterly unproductive. No amount of staring – or focus – could make a lead pop out of the board.<p>

All the information they had gathered so far had made their way to that board. So they stared.

"I don't get it," said Frost. "The U.S.S. Belleau Wood is only in port for two weeks. Three weeks at most. Schindler doesn't know anyone here. He's from Detroit for Christ's sake."

"He's a tough kid too. Doesn't look like someone who'd go down easy," Korsak said. "Detroit. Iraq. Afghanistan. How the hell did this happen?"

"Maybe he knew his attackers. They knock him out and beat on him. Doc did say that some of these wounds are post-mortem. Plus, the whole thing looks too personal to be random. Maybe it was one of his buddies. Jealousy over a girl, maybe?"

Korsak shot a look over at Frost; "My granddaddy was a Marine. I'd be damned if any one of those boys killed Schindler. Good Marines don't kill Marines. They got their backs."

"Well _maybe_," said Frost, "there was a 'bad' Marine somewhere in that company of his. It's a big group of people, and most of them have had at least one tour in Afghanistan. PTSD could've made a small problem a lot worse."

"And what do you suppose we do? Have some shrink test every damn Marine on that ship? A whole company of 'em? What about the rest of the ship?"

A silence fell over the bullpen. Frost and Korsak bickered. A lot. On every case. But the mindless bickering usually got them somewhere. It got their brain juices working. But suddenly, the two of them found themselves stuck. Painfully and irritatingly stuck.

Korsak turned to Jane; "Whatya think?"

Suddenly it was painfully clear that Jane had not spoken a single word the whole morning. Jane could feel the awareness settle into the room, filling in every little crack and crevice.

"I think," she said, slowly, measuring her words. "We should find out what this small problem was. I like Frost's idea. But we can't go through the entire ship looking for some pissed off guy with PTSD."

Korsak smiled, leaning back into his chair; "Well whatya know? Jane's got a brain in her head!"

Jane and Frost got up as Korsak leaned towards his computer screen. They heard him giggle.

"Him and his goddamn animals…" growled Jane.

* * *

><p>"I brought coffee."<p>

Maura looked up from the autopsy table to see Jane walking towards her with, indeed, two cups up coffee in her hands.

"Very nice. Now I would like to talk."

"Case first, talk later. You got anything new for me?"

Maura nodded; "I just got the stomach content reports back."

"Well? What did it say?"

"It _said_, that in the twelve hours before he died, he ate chips, a hamburger, a hotdog, fries, coffee, beer, nuts…" she stated, quickly rattling off the items.

"Great. So he's eaten the most generic foods in all of Boston. Hell in all of America. He could've driven down to Connecticut and have eaten all those things. Wait." Jane paused, chewing on her lip. "What was that last one?"

"Uh… nuts."

"Do you know what kind of nuts?"

"Let me see… peanuts."

"Was there anything else on that list?"

"No. Jane, I don't understand what you're getting at."

"Peanuts. Maura, have you ever eaten an MRE? I don't know, maybe in college or something? Late night?"

"God, no," Maura said, exasperated. "Do you know how many calories are in one packet? It's not healthy. Not at all. I'm still not following Jane."

"MRE's come with small packets of nuts and raisins. Peanuts and raisins. Tasteless peanuts and raisins." Jane made a face. "Actually, scratch that. They're disgusting. It's like eating wax. Point is, Schindler's not gonna go out looking for peanuts on his free time. Not when he can eat anything else he wants."

"That's an assumption, Jane. He _did _eat the peanuts."

"_Exactly_. Where's the one place you end up eating nuts without really _wanting _to eat the nuts?"

"You can make assumptions. I won't engage in such behavior."

"Bars, Maura. The answer is bars. The beer just proves my point."

"Jane, the beer doesn't _prove _anything. It just makes one theory more likely than the other. And Schindler wasn't found even near a five-mile radius of any bar. That neighborhood was purely residential. Which is a _fact _I gathered from accurate and conclusive observations."

"Whatever…" Jane spoke fast now, in that tone of voice she took on whenever revelations and connections and all the other things that detectives are supposed to notice came upon her. Of course, her voice was still as raspy as ever. "The point is that it _was _a residential area. No bars. Which _means_ he went out there looking for someone… Don't interrupt!" Jane looked pointedly at Maura before continuing. "…who is probably the reason why Schindler's dead."

Jane chuckled to herself as she watched Maura swallow the words that begged to leave her mouth. She chuckled as Maura proceeded to speak as slowly as humanely possible, obviously in an attempt to keep those words down.

"So… What are you going to do?"

Jane through herself down into a nearby chair. The recent outburst had clearly drained her a little.

"I don't know. I'll ask Frost to run all the names of everyone who lives on that block through the computer. We'll see if any of the names have any sort of a connection to Schindler."

"And if that doesn't come up with anything?"

"I don't know!"

The words had left Jane before she could even stop them, but it wasn't the words she was worried about. The phrase played over and over again in Jane's head, and every time her memory exacerbated the whole thing.

That and there was Maura's slightly shocked face. The doctor turned away and looked over at the autopsy table.

"Oh my god… are you crying?" Jane scooted her stool closer to Maura. She put her fingers through her dark tangled hair and looked down. "Look, I'm sorry I yelled, okay? I'm just… tired. It's been a long week."

_It's been a long month_, Jane thought, mentally correcting herself. The buoyancy of the earlier conversation had fallen. Drastically. Being with Maura… it made her forget some of the stuff that had been occupying her mind. The pain in her chest never went away, but, until now, she had forgotten about Ian. Charlie, too.

"I just thought I was helping," squeaked Maura. "Setting you up with Charlie… I thought it would've helped."

"It did… help," forced Jane. "We had a good time last night."

"I thought you would." Maura gave Jane a small smile. "He knows some very relaxing techniques, Jane. Which you may have gotten acquainted with, if all really did go well."

"What? Ew, Maura. No. Ew. No."

"I don't know what I said to illicit such a reaction. Charlie's a very competent masseuse."

"What?"

"A masseuse, Jane. He had to take out some very large loans to attend BCU. So he worked as a masseuse for a while. That means he gave massages, Jane."

"I knew that!"

"The way you just rubbed your collarbone suggests that you did not," giggled Maura.

Cautiously smiling, Jane leaned in; "You really want me to end up with this Charlie guy, don't you?"

Maura nodded, shyly; "Of course, I do. Charlie's perfect for you. He's independent, but doesn't mind having a strong woman around. He's funny. Intelligent. Nice. All the qualities you've ever listed to me are all here in one man."

_No_, Jane thought. _Not all. Charlie's not perfect for me. You are._

Maura continued; "And he's an old friend. Of mine _and_ Ian's. And frankly… this is a little bit of an excuse to see you more." Her voice settled to a whisper. "I've missed these past couple of weeks. A lot."

"I'm sorry, Maura. I've been a jerk, I know. I don't want to see you hurt."

"No. This is not about anything you've done. I'm not entirely blind to social cues. This is something about what I've done…"

"Maura…"

"I've done something, Jane, I know. But I don't know what that thing I've done wrong is. You avoided me, Jane. Like the plague. I hurt you… and I've hurt myself in the process. Please don't say anything yet… Let me finish.

"That's why I set you up with Charlie. I thought if you liked him enough you'd want to see him more, and that would be an excuse for the two of us too spend more time, especially when we finish up with this case. But… I suppose I don't know. I never know with you. I never needed to know what to do with other people before. Not like this."

"Maura… you're my…" Jane forced the words out of her throat, her voice growing raspier, quieter; "…friend. I love you. Charlie doesn't need to be an excuse."

Maura's voice was still a whisper; "You haven't even touched me since you disappeared on me. Not even now that you're back. You're here but you haven't let your hands even remotely close to me."

The tension returned, once again pushing Jane's shoulders down.

"I'm sorry, Maura. You'll… just need to give me some time."

"Don't disappear on me, Jane. Not again. Please."

"I'm never going anywhere. I promise. I just need some time, okay?"

Maura nodded, and the doors closed shut behind Jane. The flat heels of Jane Rizzoli's shoes echoed throughout the floor, through the hallways, and into the morgue, growing fainter and fainter as Jane took her leave.

* * *

><p>The whine and groan of Jane's vacuum cleaner echoed out into the hallway beyond her front door. Frankie couldn't get the noise out of his head. He put his fist on the door and began to knock. And knock. And knock. And knock. And knock. And knock.<p>

"What do you want, Frankie?" yelled Jane.

"I want you to shut that thing off."

"You don't even live here!"

Frankie's face crumbled. Rather dramatically.

"I just... I just have so many feelings."

He scrunched his eyes close and let out a few pathetic sobs for good measure. His face still all balled up, and a silence now settling upon the two Rizzoli's, Frankie peaked open a eye at Jane, inwardly smiling satisfactorily at himself as he began to see his older sister desperately attempt to hide the amusement from her face.

"You _would _reference that movie," teased Jane.

"You gonna keep me standing here, or what?"

Jane stepped aside before speaking again; "There's a beer in the fridge. Take it. Or something. If you want. I didn't pay for it or anything. No big deal."

Frankie had already popped open the beer, drinking it.

"So," he said. "What's up?"

"What do you mean, what's up? Nothing's up."

"Clearly something is."

"Oh. Suddenly you're a detective now. What makes you think that?"

"It's not hard to tell. First off, you were vacuuming."

"Great observation, Sherlock. I know my neighbor told you that."

"Well how's it any different from you taking statements, huh?"

"It's different, Frankie. Very different."

"Just tell me, Janie. Or I'll go to ma."

Jane threw herself onto the chair near Frankie's, grabbing his collar; "You wouldn't."

"You know I would."

"Mama's boy."

"Whatever. You're upset. Spill."

Jane paused. She got up to grab another beer from the fridge. Budweiser this time. She stared down at the brown bottle, tracing the curves that had been printed onto the label. The stool suddenly felt hard and uncomfortable beneath her. _Frankie won't leave_, she thought. _Until you tell him _something. _Anything. Just think of something. Oh! What the hell!_

"Maura's upset with me."

"No she's not."

"Yes, she is, Frankie. She's upset. And it's my fault."

"What did you do this time?"

"I think... I think..." Jane proceeded to choose her words carefully. "I think I'm love her..."

"Wait. Like you and me love? Or like Carla Talucci and that weird boyfriend love?"

"Ew, Frankie. Neither."

"Oh. Okay. Figures. And good for you."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Is that all _you _have to say?"

"She doesn't love me back. Not like that, anyway. None of it matters. I'll just get it out of my head... No big deal."

Frankie's voice grew softer; "What's different about Maura?"

"She's perfect Frankie. And it hurts. It hurts so much to be around her..." Jane had already forgotten that it was her little brother she was speaking to. Hell she forget that she was speaking to anyone at all. "Especially when she's around that asshole of a guy she has now. But it hurts so much more to be away, to not be around her, to not see her, to not even know that she's close. And hell. If she ever commits murder, and if I ever had to investigate that... She'd get away. She wouldn't even need to say a word. As long as I see that smile. And you know what? I don't care how much it hurts. I don't care that she doesn't love me back, and I don't care that she's with Ian. Well, no, I do care. But what I'm trying to say is, if some _higher power _came down and said he'd change it all, that he'd change Maura to love me and not him... I wouldn't let him do it. I couldn't do that. I couldn't change a single hair on her head if it weren't meant to change.

"Maura told me about parallel universes once. I didn't really get it. Most of it didn't make any sense, but I caught on to what some of it was. Something about there being an infinite amount of different kinds of worlds with all different versions of ourselves, different because of the different choices that were made. And sometimes I hate God. I hate God for not putting me in that universe where Maura loves me and everything works out just fine. But then I wouldn't exchange this world for any other. Like I said, I could never change her. And any other Maura from any other world just wouldn't be my Maura, you know?"

* * *

><p><strong>So, I don't often take the time to answer reviews (though I have been very grateful for the ones that I have received) I have found it necessary to leave my readers with this:<strong>

**If we were to assume that biology is correct in her teachings, then the single mission that should exist in the forefront of our minds should be to hunt for the most viable means of reproduction so that our most precious cargo – our biological fingerprints – may survive us. And for a good number of people, this notion holds true, whether it comes in the form of another sexually active human being of the opposite sex or in the form of a test tube. But there are those of us, perhaps, armed with the most survivable of genetic material, who against all biological sciences, choose the partner who cannot hope to – or even has the want to – reproduce, or the partner who is subject to only a few more short months of life, or the absent partner who for some reason or another – whether valiant or not – has disappeared. And so, we might instead say that we humans are simply irrational: too irrational for the rigid structure invented by science. It is this irrationality, however, that makes human beings so beautiful. It is this irrationality that is the cause of hope, the stupid ignorant hope that we might cite to justify waiting an entire lifetime for something that we know will never come. It is this irrationality that prompts us to do absolutely anything – everything – to see that one person smile, even if it means that we are never to be loved back. It is this irrationality that causes us to take the plunge into insanity, to do the same thing over and over and over again viciously expecting a different result. And in spite of the pain, of the heartache, of the sheer devastation, I would take irrationality (insanity!) over rationality any day. As human beings, this is our birthright.**


	6. Heavy Lifting

**I don't own anything... and I'll apologize ahead of time for this chapter. Just bear with me for a while. I swear it'll be worth it.**

**Heavy Lifting - Ambulance Ltd.**

**"There where it is we do not need a wall: / He is all pine and I am apple orchard. / My apple trees will never get across / And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. / He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.' / Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder / If I could put a notion in his head: / 'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it / Where there are cows? But here there are no cows. / Before I built a wall I'd ask to know / What I was walling in or walling out, / And to whom I was like to give offense / Something there is that doesn't love a wall, / That wants it down.'" - excerpt from Robert Frost's "Mending Wall"**

"We got a match," announced Frost. "He was a Navy Corpsman in Iraq. His tour overlapped with Schindler's. He worked with their platoon a lot. Says here that he treated him for wounds sustained in combat at Fallujah."

"A devil doc, huh? What's his name?" asked Korsak.

"Petty Officer 2nd Class Daniel Smith. He's been discharged. He left the Navy right after that tour.""

Jane pulled herself out of her chair; "Alright, Frost. Let's go talk to him."

"No. No way. I'm coming with you."

"Someone's gotta stay here, Korsak."

"I'm a Marine, Jane. He's a corpsman. We speak the same language. Let me go with you. Whatever's going on, he's probably not gonna wanna talk. But he'll talk to me."

"Just go, Korsak," grumbled Frost.

Korsak smiled triumphantly before letting Jane lead the way out of the bullpen. Silently, Frost stared down at his computer searching through the names and entering in more and more variables, searching for some match other than Petty Officer Smith.

There was no doorbell, so Jane rapped her first against the cheap wood. The door promptly opened.

"Who're you?"

"Detective Rizzoli," said Jane, flashing her badge. "This here's Detective Korsak. We need to ask you some questions."

"Is this about Allen?"

"Why? Do you have something to say?"

"Listen, detective. I don't have anything to say. And even if I did, I don't have to say it. I don't have to talk to you. So if you could please just leave me alone…"

"Hey, doc…" interceded Korsak. "We don't want any trouble. We just gotta ask a couple questions. For Corporal Schindler's sake."

"They came by and tried to ask questions before. I don't have to say anything, you know? They can't ask, and I don't have to say anything. That's the rule."

"Who's they?" asked Jane.

"Military Police."

"We're not with MP, doc. And anything you say to us, we don't really gotta say to them. We're just trying to figure out who killed Corporal Schindler. That's all we're trying to do. Can we come in?"

Smith narrowed his eyes before stepping aside and letting the two detectives into his home. The three of them sat around a table. Jane spoke first.

"We have reason to believe that Schindler was trying to come visit you on the night of his murder."

"That's impossible."

"Why?"

"He wouldn't come see me. I don't see why he would. We haven't spoken since our tour in Iraq."

"Don't lie to us, doc," Korsak said, gruffly.

"What're you? A Marine or something? Navy?"

"I was. A Marine. I hit Staff Sergeant and left the service."

"Grunt?"

"Grunt."

"You're right. We have spoken. But we haven't spoken in a year. Not after Afghanistan…"

"You know any reason anyone would want to kill him?" Jane spoke now.

"No, ma'am."

"What about his platoon? Or company?"

"I can't imagine anyone in his platoon trying to kill him. That's impossible. But in his company? Maybe. It's not probable, but it sure as hell is possible."

Korsak looked over at Smith incredulously; "You tryna say that a _Marine_ killed Corporal Schindler?"

"I'm not saying that's what happened. I'm saying it's a possibility. Some of those kids… I bet it's their first time in the fleet, and they feel like they're freaking Rambo coming out of Parris Island. You remember how it was. And suddenly, as they're shipping out to combat, they hear some other Marine in another platoon is… Well they hear it and they stop thinking of him as a Marine."

"That's bullshit."

"Is it?"

Softly, Jane leaned forward; "What did they hear about Schindler?"

"That maybe he's a _fag_." Smith pushed out of his chair and angrily paced away before coming back. "These boys who haven't been to combat yet, or the boys who _have _been to combat and haven't actually served with someone who's gay… They think he isn't really a Marine. But they're _wrong_."

"You think they could've killed him over it?"

"They could've. I just can't believe he would've let something like that out."

"Is this why those MP's came over here, doc?"

"Yes. As soon as the Belleau Wood came into port, the MP's were at my door. I left the Navy because I fell in love with Allen. Recon never really stayed near a base, so they needed a corpsman to go around with them. To make sure they were taken care of. I was that corpsman. Hell, it was a long seven months, but he showed me something. He was never afraid, and his platoon at the time didn't know better. A couple of his squad-mates knew, but not anyone else. Me, I told no one. And there I was, a E-5… a petty officer… being shown up by some private straight outta boot. We stayed together. Even after Afghanistan, you know?"

"But you stopped talking last year."

Smith nodded; "We had a fight. A big one. I never stopped loving him, but… He's really dead, isn't he?"

"I'm sorry for your loss," whispered Jane.

Fifteen minutes later, Jane and Korsak were back in the car, processing the information that they had just gathered. Korsak had his brow furrowed and was pushing back into his seat.

"I don't want to believe that a Marine did this, but Smith is right. It's something we gotta check out."

"Well I want to have a word with Colbert. And that 1st Lieutenant. This is something they both knew and this is something they should've told us."

The Marines stood, dumbfound in front of Jane, Maura, and Korsak. Maura had demanded to come along. The dynamic of the group intrigued her, she said. Plus, there was always the advantage that Maura had, that she could read the micro-expressions that flitted across every face in the world.

"We need to talk to 1st Lieutenant Daly."

"He's on personal time, ma'am. We all are. We don't know where he is."

"Well maybe you can tell us something then. Why did you lie?"

Maura saw the expressions flash across their face: first, the confusion, and then the fear. It was all there, in a series of near microscopic twitches. Even Jane or Korsak wouldn't be able to notice something as subtle as this. She smiled triumphantly. She proved her worth.

"We didn't lie, ma'am," said the Lance Corporal. Of the group, he seemed to hold the highest rank.

"You withheld the truth, Marine. You know that's lying," Korsak said. He spoke with a different authority. A Gunny's authority. "Now tell us the truth."

"We know about Schindler," said Jane. "We know that he was gay."

"So?" blurted one of the privates. It was the private that had spoken at their early meeting. It was one of Schindler's squad mates. "Is that supposed to mean anything? You saying he wasn't a good Marine… ma'am?"

"That's isn't what we're trying to say. Don't you think that's something he could've been killed over?"

"What do you mean?" The Lance Corporal spoke now.

"What she's tryna say is," said Korsak, slowly, "that someone on the ship coulda killed him. Not a platoon mate… But maybe somebody else in the company."

"No way. No way that happened. Just about everyone in the company knew about Corporal Schindler. And no one gave a rat's ass, ma'am. Some of the Staff NCO's have served with him and know him well. They respect him and the junior Marines do too. There is no doubt, ma'am."

"Then why didn't you say anything before?"

"We were afraid top brass wouldn't give him a proper burial, ma'am. We heard the investigations were only just getting started. We didn't want to make things worse. He deserves to be put into the ground right, ma'am. He deserves it."

* * *

><p>Jane pinched her brow. The whole thing bothered her. Leads here, dead-ends there. It was all the same. It didn't help that <em>she <em>was on her mind. Maura. Her questions and the Marines' answers were foggy; she could hardly remember the words on her own and thanked God that she had thought to record the conversation. But the entire ordeal wasn't completely forgotten; the image of Maura was sharp in her mind. The way she focused. The way she caught on to the small little expressions across the Marines' faces. The way she was so close, but so far away, all at once.

Her thoughts were interrupted by hard, sharp steps into the bullpen. She hadn't even noticed that the room was empty.

"Rizzoli?"

"Yeah… Who's asking?"

Jane still hadn't looked up from her desk. She could tell that the incoming footsteps did not belong to her partner or Korsak, and she could definitely tell that the footsteps did not belong to Maura's heels.

"It's… Ian."

"Oh. Hi, detective." Jane was careful to address the other detective by his rank. She didn't know him well enough to do otherwise. "You need anything?"

"Actually, yeah, I do."

"Well, what is it?"

"You're as tough as they say, aren't you?"

"Just get to the point."

"I need your help. With Maura."

"What?"

Jane's lips instantly tensed. She could feel the muscles in her back tightening one by one, moving up her body in a wave. She closed the manila folder in front of her.

"Don't make me say it again, Rizzoli."

"What do you need?" Jane's words were terse, slow, and strained.

"You know." Ian looked away and slowly looked back, softening his voice. "It's her birthday this weekend. And… Well we've only been together for a couple of weeks now, and it's been a while since we were together back in high school. Hell, it's been a while since we were going to BCU. She's changed since then. I don't know what did it, but it happened. You know this new Maura real good, Rizzoli. So I need your help."

"You want dating tips?"

"Kinda. Yeah."

A part of Jane wanted to tell the detective in front of her to just fuck the hell off. She even tried opening her mouth to say it. But damn. As soon as she twitched her lips, all she could see was Maura's face. She could see two of them: Maura's face if she didn't help Ian, or Maura's face if she did. Jane swallowed the growing lump in her throat before answering.

"Alright. What're you thinking?"

"Right now."

"No. Yesterday. Of course, I'm talking about right now!"

"I'm thinking a nice dinner. Maybe Italian… We've been talking about this one place. I was thinking Irish might be nice too."

"That it?"

"So far. Never needed to be too good at this before, you know?"

"Whatever. Let me tell you a couple of things. You're going to start the day off by sending stuff down to her. Flowers. Send a nice good bunch of flowers. And then after that, get a some bags of fudge clusters in. You got that? Fudge clusters. You send strawberries to her apartment. The really good kind. Those are for her turtle. Be nice. Go down to see her. For dinner… Hell, screw that Italian place. Go there some other time. And Irish? I thought you'd know better. No Irish. Not at this time of year. There's a place by the water. They do oysters. Or something. Take her there. I can get you the name of the place in a little bit."

"Sounds… good. Wow, Rizzoli."

"Shut up. You got a present in mind?"

"Well… I saw this necklace at a store near my place."

"Do that if you want. But look around you, detective. Think she's all about the material? She works in a morgue for Christ's sake. She's all about experience. You got that? Here." Jane scribbled something down on a piece of paper before giving it to Ian. "There's this show she's been talking about wanting to go to. You can get her that necklace if you want. I'd take her to that show."

And there it was. The one sentence that probably meant nothing to Ian but redefined everything that had come out of Jane's mouth. "I'd take her to that show." It was true. Jane would. Jane would send the flowers. Jane would send the fudge clusters and the strawberries. Jane would find the prefect place to eat. She didn't imagine Ian with Maura, doing these things. She couldn't. She imagined herself in his place instead.

"Thanks, Rizzoli. Really."

"Yeah, okay. Now scram."

Jane smiled when the door opened up in front of her. She lifted her hands in the air so that she could show off the goods that she had brought.

* * *

><p>"Chinese food and booze. And I got a movie in there too. Let me in?"<p>

"Of course, Jane."

"I wanted to make it up to you, Maur," said Jane, when the two of them had gotten inside. Jane set the food on the counter. "I know I haven't been around. And that kinda sucks. But I guess I just needed to put my priorities in order." Jane shrugged. "I thought we could pop in a movie, is all."

"That sounds fine," said Maura. Jane didn't miss the smile spreading across the other woman's face.

"Let me just… I gotta go wash up. Hold on, okay?"

Jane let the cold water run before splashing it up against her face. _Cool down, Rizzoli. Don't blow this. Just stay cool. Don't lose it or anything. That would suck. A lot. So don't._ She pushed back at the chrome faucet handle, bringing the flow of water to a stop. The towels were soft. Expensive. Hell, everything in the bathroom was fucking expensive.

"I'm out of my league, aren't I," she breathed.

The Chinese food set out on the table, the two finally settled down in the coach, the title scene flashing across the screen.

"I missed this," whispered Maura.

"I missed this, too."


	7. Skinny Love

**I don't own anything.**

**Skinny Love - Bon Iver**

**"Then I turned away slowly and walked down the middle of the bazaar. I allowed the two pennies to fall against the sixpence in my pocket. I heard a voice call from one end of the gallery that the light was out. The upper part of the hall was now completely dark. Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger." - James Joyce's "Araby" from the collection, Dubliners.**

Jane Rizzoli slowly opened her eyes to the light that had filtered into the room. The light held a dim orange tint and dripped into the room, flooding the air with its warmth. The repetitive title music of the Boondock Brothers DVD that they had popped in the previous night was still playing. But to Jane, it became nothing more than quiet background noise. The word "Play" stared at the tall woman; it was highlighted and flashed and blinked.

Breathing was easy. So very easy. It hadn't been this easy in so long. Her lungs slowly filled to the brim, pushing up against the walls of her chest. The used air vacated her through her nose, equally as slowly. It hadn't been this easy since before Hoyt. It hadn't been this easy since before the pain in her chest began.

Maura fit perfectly to Jane's body. They simply, just, fit. Like puzzle pieces. Like water in a cup. Like those damn gels dentists use to take a mold of your teeth. Jane inhaled again, the smell of Maura bouncing off the receptors in her nose. She traced shapes on the small of Maura's back, where her hand lay. Maura snuggled in closer at the contact.

There she was. Her arms wrapped around Jane's waist. Her legs hooked around Jane's legs. Her head snug against Jane's neck.

Wait.

_Maura's _arms. _Maura's legs_. _Maura_'s head.

The light dripping into the room became harsher, and she could feel her pupils close in reaction. She could feel herself tense. She could feel herself holding her breath. It was hard again. To breathe.

"Shit," she whispered, her voice raspy.

"Mm?" said Maura. Her eyes fluttered open, her body still clinging to Jane's. "What's wrong?"

"Uh… we, uh… We fell asleep on the couch."

"I know."

"Should we… uh… move?"

Maura untangled herself from Jane. She noticed how tense the detective had become. She noticed how unsettled the other woman had become. Jane's muscles relaxed ever so slightly, melting almost. It wasn't any easier to breathe. The pain in her chest deepened. A part of her wished that Maura had just stayed put.

"Are you okay, Jane?"

"Yeah… I'm just… disoriented. Sleeping on the couch and all."

"You know, sleeping on couches is generally not good for your latimus dorsi. Beds are honestly much more suited to long-term sleep patterns. It's really engineered for it," said Maura, yawning.

"What?" Jane made a mental note to look up whatever the hell that Maura was talking about.

"It's not good for your back, _detective_," teased Maura, bringing a smile to Jane's face. "But I do have to say. In this one instance. I found myself quite comfortable. And rested. It's very interesting."

"Well you did use me like a giant pillow." Jane lightly shoved Maura with her fist, chucking.

"True. And you did a very good job. That was the most restful REM sleep I've had in a while."

"What?"

"Rapid eye movement."

"That makes perfect sense now."

"Good. I'm glad."

She hadn't caught on to the sarcasm, and Jane laughed. The bags beneath her eyes lightened slightly; the quiet laughter wasn't strained. Maura settled her head back on Jane's shoulder, nuzzling the detective's neck.

"Maura?" said Jane, swallowing.

"Yes?"

"You know what? Never mind."

It was fine, the pain. _It hurts less_, she thought. _It doesn't stop hurting, but it hurts less. I love her._

As she made that small admission to herself, she was surprised. She thought she'd be scared. Worried. Angry. Terrified, really. Instead, the corner of her mouth twitched, extending the length of her lips by a mere tenth of an inch. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. None of everything that had happened mattered. It didn't even matter that Maura chose someone else. _I love her_, thought Jane. _And I don't give a damn about anything else_.

"Mm," smiled Maura, into Jane's neck.

"What?"

"You smell good. Have you been wearing anything?"

"Uh, yeah. Clothes."

Maura lifted her face away from Jane's neck to look up at her. Jane swallowed. Her face tingled. Maura's face was close. Very close. So close. Her eyes quickly looked down at Maura's lips before returning to her eyes.

"No," breathed Maura. "I mean, have you been wearing perfume? A new soap, maybe?"

Jane shook her head, afraid to speak.

Maura pulled away, and Jane breathed again.

"D-do you mind if I shower?" she stammered.

"Go ahead," said Maura. "The change of clothes you left here last time is still in the top dresser. It's to the far right, okay?"

"Y-yeah. Got it."

* * *

><p>A few days later, the bullpen was buzzing with noise. By some hand of God, every case in the unit was caught up in a various assortment of search programs and crime scene testing. Narcotics had reserved most of the equipment for a week to bust up some drug ring connected to some big-time high school. But no one was really that upset about it today.<p>

Frankie finally got the list pin up in the large banner.

"There," he said, leaning back, satisfied with his work.

Jane rolled her eyes as the younger Rizzoli fell off of the stool, landing square on his butt.

"You're never gonna make detective if you keep falling on your ass like that," teased Jane.

"She's right. That's like homicide detective 101. Don't fall on your ass," chimed in Korsak.

Frost helped Frankie up; "Hey when you make detective, don't ever do anything stupid in front of him," he said, pointing at Korsak. "It's not a good idea. At all. He'll give you some stupid nickname. It sucks."

"You're just upset that you got stuck with barf-bag!" Korsak laughed.

"Well maybe I'll call you puppy boy. Yeah, that'll work."

"No it won't. Because puppies are so cute… Yes they are! Yes they are!"

Jane rolled her eyes before pulling a large package out onto her desk. She cut that packaging with the Swiss Army she kept in her desk drawer.

"Don't listen to them, Frankie," she said, chuckling.

"You seem like you're in a better mood." Frankie lowered his voice. "Did you make up with Maura or something. You look better, you know?"

"We did," she said. When Frankie nodded his eyebrows, she put up her hand. "Hold on. We sort of made up. Not like that. We're just… at a bearable place right now. It's fine, and it works. That's all I care about right now."

"Did you even talk about _it_?"

"Of course not! Why would I do anything like that? I'm not gonna fuck this up, Frankie. So what's going working now is gonna keep working. So it's gonna stay that way. Now shush." Jane waved her arms around at everyone to stop talking and to duck down. "I told her to meet me here for lunch. She should be on her way."

The click clack of Maura Isles' shoes echoed through the precinct. _It's unnaturally silent_, she thought. _Did something happen? Did everyone leave? Jane did say to come up for lunch…_

Maura walked into the bullpen.

"Surprise?" Jane said, jumping up a little and waving her arms. The party hat sat askance on her head.

The rest of the unit cheered, grunting guttural noises from the bottoms of their throats. Korsak was still sitting at his desk, the party hat snug and the party horn sticking out of his mouth, the ribbon unraveling as it blew.

Maura was absolutely shocked.

Smiling, Jane wrapped her arm around Maura's shoulder.

"Welcome," she said. "To your surprise birthday party."

"But what about lunch?"

Maura was still clearly confused. Happy. Laughing. But still confused. Maura was still completely bewildered.

"_That _was just to get you up here. This is a surprise part, Maura." Jane's voice grew shy. "For you."

Jane led Maura to her desk, pulling the cardboard from the package back to reveal a beautifully iced cake. "Well actually this is technically lunch. It's got all the right nutrients. Sugar and icing."

"Actually sugar and icing…"

"Oh look!" Interrupted Jane, causing Maura to chuckle. "Presents!"

Despite all the nicknames that floated around, the detectives in the homicide unit generally liked the ME. One, she was good at her job. Two, she was hot. Really hot. Very hot. Three, the woman had Jane's backing for Christ's sake. And four, Maura was a charmingly good person. Quirky, yes. But a good person, nonetheless. In homicide, at least, Maura's social ineptness was welcomed. It was a nice slice of relief from the day to day struggles the homicide unit posed.

So, all the detectives went out to gather presents. They weren't expensive. Or tasteful. Or sophisticated. They were better. Stupid little toys from the dollar shop. A plastic crown, an obvious play on a nickname. The detective who had come up with it was clearly proud of himself when handing it over to Maura. Frankie felt even prouder when he handed the very _queenly_ rod over, right after.

They saved the three detectives who knew her best for last. Korsak gave a little puppy that farted if you squeezed it. Frost pulled out a little car that was a splitting image of Maura's. He pointed at the little Lego's sitting in it.

"That's you sitting shotgun in your car," he said. "And there's me. Driving the car. Because you let me."

Maura laughed. Her cheeks were tired, almost. From laughing. It was a good tired, of course. It was a tired Maura could get very used to.

Jane waited for Maura turned to her before handing her the small package.

"Don't worry," she said. "I've got your real present sitting at home. This one's just for shits and giggles. Hope you like it anyway."

The small, sealed evidence jar fell away from the goofy wrapping paper.

"You gave me blood?"

"No, Doctor Isles," smiled Jane. "I gave you a reddish brown substance. That… is not blood."

Jane pointed at the label which faced away from Maura. The ME turned it towards her, and indeed it read, "NOT BLOOD. TESTED BY BPD." It was evident that Jane had scribbled (as neatly as possible, mind you) the first two words. Maura chuckled to herself when she recognized the handwriting of one of the lab techs for the last three words.

"Thank you, Jane. It's wonderful."

Maura hugged Jane, surprising the latter detective. The detective hardly knew what to do with her arms. They kind of just… flopped there. She stuck her tongue out at Frankie when he flashed a smile and double thumbs up at her, from behind Maura's back.

"I'm glad you like your reddish brown substance," said Jane, smiling shyly.

Maura captured the image in her head. Clearly everything was back to normal. The rest of the hour went by smoothly. Well, it went by relatively smoothly. They cut the cake… They ate the cake… And the younger detectives rowdily claiming that no party was complete without booze, broke out a couple dozen six packs of Cokes. On which they wrote "BEER" with sharpie. And with which they proceeded to having chugging contests with.

And something deep inside Maura's head told her not to mention the strawberries that had arrived at her apartment that morning, or the flowers that had already arrived in the morgue when she walked in, or the fudge clusters that were delivered not long after.

The hour went well.

* * *

><p>Jane walked into the morgue as everyone began to leave for the night. She felt good, and the pain in her chest wasn't really a pain anymore. It still felt the same, like a balloon about to pop, but this time the balloon felt nice. It was a nice balloon.<p>

She didn't make it through the doors. The red light of the hallway flooded down over Jane and she peeked over the evidence lockers. She could almost make out what the words.

"Are you ready?"

"Wait, are we leaving now?"

"Of course, we are." The man – Ian – paused, his voice growing quieter. Jane hated that. It made him seem nice. It was hard to hate someone who sounded vulnerable. "I made us a reservation. I think you'll know the place. It's nice."

"Am I dressed for it? I'm not dressed for that, Ian. I need a change of clothes."

"You look great, Maura. You don't need to change. You always look great."

"That's my line," growled Jane, from behind the glass, gritting her teeth.

"By the way, did you like the things I sent?"

"I loved them, Ian. They were really thoughtful. Especially those strawberries."

"Of course she loved them, you idiot," growled Jane again, quietly.

"Were they the right ones?" he asked. "I hope they were the right ones. I was afraid they wouldn't be."

"They were _exactly _the right ones. How did you know?"

"I just know these things," replied Ian, rather triumphantly.

"You goddamned idiot."

Jane frowned as she tensed the muscle right below her lips. Hell, she tensed her whole jaw. Silently, she looked away from the couple, her eyes settling at the arrangement of flowers on the table, and the half-eaten fudge clusters that sat next to them.

_I should be the one_, Jane thought to herself. _I should be the one in that room. Not him. It should be me._

Quietly, as the couple kissed, Jane found herself in front of the elevator. Again, a little dazed, she dug her hands into her pockets, walked out the headquarters lobby, and found herself in the sickly humid Boston streets.

"I hate New England weather," she said, to herself.

She skipped over the Dirty Robber and found some empty bar where she could quietly drink. The bottled beer was warm, and whatever was on tap was even crappier. The Jack Daniels, though, bit her throat, and it didn't matter what anything tasted like.


	8. There Goes My Gun

**I don't own anything, and thank you all for the reviews. I really appreciate them all. :)**

**There Goes My Gun - The Pixies**

**"Yes, indeed I can. It was tonight, when the wonderful thing didn't happen; then I saw you were not the man I had thought you... I have waited so patiently for eight years; for, goodness knows, I knew very well that wonderful things don't happen every day. Then this horrible misfortune came upon me, and then I felt quite certain that the wonderful thing was going to happen at last." - Nora Helmer to Torvald Helmer in Henrik Ibsen's A Doll's House**

"Good morning."

"Mmf. Jane?"

The thin covers felt good around Maura's bare legs. Cool. Light peeked out from beneath the curtains. The room was dark, but the sun had already risen a considerable amount. Maura kept her face under the covers. She didn't feel any particular need to get up. She needed more sleep anyway. The way the light just desperately wanted to get through the thick fabrics covering the windows was just a remainder that Maura would, indeed, have to get up soon.

"No. Not Jane. Ian. Why would you be saying Rizzoli's name?" His voice turned seductive. "Did you forget last night so soon?"

"No, no. Of course not."

Maura seemed out of it.

"Fascinating. So then why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd you ask for Rizzoli?"

"I didn't _ask _for her, Ian. It's just habit. Jane's usually around."

"Maybe… that isn't such a good idea."

The birds outside the window chirped. Maura was suddenly reminded of the nest that had been build not more than four feet from the glass. She had kept watch of them before, keeping away cats, but recently she had forgotten they were even there. But the birds were chirping. That was always a good sign.

"What do you mean?" Maura's eyes narrowed.

"I mean," said Ian, carefully, "that maybe you shouldn't be seeing Rizzoli any more."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ian."

"Well it's weird, Maura!"

"What's weird?"

"That she hangs around you all the time." Ian was becoming exasperated. "It's weird. That's all I'm trying to say."

"We '_hang around_' each other. We're co-workers, and she's a good friend. There is nothing weird about that."

"It's just uncomfortable, Maura. People in the precinct talk. Everyone knows Jane. And everyone knows you. People _talk _about it. I'm not the only one. I'm just bringing up a concern. That's all, okay? Don't get mad."

"I'm not mad."

"I just don't like them talking about you like _that_."

"Like what?"

"You know what? I'm sorry. I really am. I'm sorry I brought up any of this. I shouldn't have. Let me make it up to you. I'll make breakfast."

Maura sighed when Ian left the room, snuggling back beneath the covers. It had been precisely a week since her birthday, and she hadn't really seen Jane. But the two of them _had _been swamped with the Schindler case. They closed it just the other day. Maura remembered the day's events word for word. She could even replay the whole thing like a movie. She had walked into the bullpen that afternoon.

_Jane looked up from her desk. Her eyes tired. The bags beneath her eyes were back. But she smiled slightly when she saw Maura walk in and sit down next to her. Jane leaned the side of her head down on her desk and gazed at the other woman._

"_Hi, there."_

"_You look awful."_

"_Thank you. I feel wonderful. Stress is just great for the complexion."_

"_Is everything okay?"_

_Jane paused for a long while after Maura had spoken. The detective's tired eyes were searching for the words in the air. Maura could see. Several times, Jane's mouth opened only to close up again. Here and there a few words left her mouth, but they were only words. They hadn't been strung together and were nothing more than a disorganized jumbled mess. Maura waited._

"_Everything's fine," Jane said, finally._

You can't just say that_, thought Maura._

"_It's just… this case has been a hard one, you know?" said Jane. Maura nodded. "It's hard to see someone like Schindler be killed like that." Jane flashed Maura a small Rizzoli smile. "But that's all good now. Korsak begged me to let him go in my place to bring these guys in. He wanted to go Marine on his ass or something."_

_The two women laughed._

_The doors behind them opened and Korsak and Frost walked in with the two suspects. Korsak had one of them by the collar. That one looked younger than Frankie. Eighteen. The other was older. Thirty, maybe. And though both were wearing camouflage, both had hair touching the tips of their ears. It was a striking difference from the Marines they had met earlier._

"_I'll take this one," said Jane, standing up and walking towards the older man. "You take the other one."_

_The younger kid seemed terrified of the grin that Korsak flashed him. He peeled him away from the man, scaring the kid even more. Jane almost felt sorry for him._

"_Alright, flyboy," Korsak said. "Let's go find the interrogation room."_

_Maura followed Jane, Frost, and the man into the next interrogation room. Maura and Frost stood on the other side of the glass, observing._

_Jane didn't sit. The man did._

"_Your name," she said, too tired to elaborate more. No beating around the bush today._

"_Staff Sergeant Charles Helvey. Air Force."_

"_I don't care if you're in the fucking Air Force. Does it look like I care? What I care about is the fact that Corporal Allen Schindler's body was found dead. Here, at home. Doesn't that bother you?"_

"_Should it?"_

"_I was hoping it would. See, we got evidence that you did it. You and that other kid."_

"_Then why aren't you arresting us?"_

"_I want you to look at these pictures very carefully, Helvey. Look at them." Jane spread Polaroid's out on the table. "You know, the guy interrogating your friend over there is a Marine. He isn't happy that a Marine was killed."_

"_Vins won't say anything."_

"_You sure about that? He seemed pretty terrified to me. You on the other hand, don't."_

"_What do I look like to you?"_

"_Satisfied. You happy about what happened to Corporal Schindler? You happy about what you did?"_

"_Don't call that fucking fag a corporal again! He ain't a corporal! Those damn Marines think they know everything. Well they don't. And that boy was a faggot. Yeah, I killed him. I stomped that kid's face flat. And I don't give a fuck. They only thing I'm upset about is that I couldn't take down a couple more of them faggots down."_

Jane called Korsak in and let him do the honors. The NCIS Special Agent thanked the detectives and took the two airmen away. He suspected that Helvey and Vins would get jail time, just as any civilian wood. Vins, however, was probably going in for accessory for murder. "The boy was following orders," he had said. "Doesn't excuse him for what he did, but the kid's barely an adult. It's a damn shame."

Maura smiled when the memory of Jane's exhausted but relieved face came to mind. She loved that look. The one Jane always wore after they had finished a case. Maura was a little stung that Jane hadn't asked to go out for drinks but figured that the other woman needed her rest. The detective had disappeared immediately, not even briefly stopping at the Dirty Robber.

* * *

><p>The pitched ball arced before reaching the plate. Which is not really what it's supposed to do, but none of them were any good at pitching. They were detectives, not softball players. At first, only Homicide and Narcotics played regularly. But once the men realized that the sport was harder than it looked, more began to play. No one wanted to be outdone by <em>softball<em>. The sound of ball hitting the soft catcher's mitt padding resounded, and the umpire – Frankie's partner – yelled. Rather dramatically.

Frankie sat on the bench, his chin resting on his hands. Bored. Really bored. The beat cops had formed their own little team, but they always got the short stick in the schedule; they wouldn't be playing for a while. That, and he had wanted to be ump. The Financial Crimes detectives were, however, outraged at the suggestion.

"You're Rizzoli's little brother. That's bias."

"Chill, man. It's a softball game."

"No. No, means no. You are not ump. Some other kid can do it."

"Holy shit. Fine."

Jane had shrugged in his direction. There was no arguing with the fraud boys on something like this.

"Let's just start the game," she had said.

Another pitch flew through the air, and instead of a soft, padded thunk, a crack echoed. The ball bounced, people scrambling to get it. Ian finally got it in his hands, behind second base, but it was too late. Frost had already run past first.

"Damn it," he muttered, as Frost did a little dance.

Fifth inning in, and Homicide was had the lead. It was close though and really wasn't much of lead. But it felt like an ass kicking. It always did with Homicide. Their cocky bravado was well-earned and a part of being a homicide detective, but it never failed to piss off Ian. _We do our jobs, too_, he thought. It didn't help that he had been passed over the promotion when the homicide slot had opened up. He went to Financial Crimes instead. They said it would be a better fit. The hours were nicer.

"Two more innings boys," he called out. "Let's pound 'em."

Two outs and a run later, Korsak stepped up to the plate. He swung and missed. He swung again and missed again. He did it a third time. The dug out groaned all at once as Financial Crimes chest bumped each other.

"Out!" called the umpire, causing Frankie's face to fall even further.

"What?" Korsak said, turning to his team. "I never said I was good at softball. And I'm old. Give me a break."

They all patted him on the back as they poured out into the field, mitts at the ready. Now it was top of the sixth. As Jane ran off, she tried not to look back at Maura. They had set her as Homicide's designated hitter.

She had shown up with Ian.

Jane was irked.

What started as friendly banter turned into an argument as to who would get Maura. Not that anyone really _wanted _Maura to play for them. They just wanted Maura on _their _team. And the snowballing competition led both teams convinced that it was either get Maura or go bust.

Ian had started it; "She plays with us," he announced. "She came here with me after all."

Jane didn't miss the glance that Ian had flashed her as the last couple of words came out of his mouth. She had sneered back.

"Now, don't be silly, Ian," Maura had said. "I'm not your property."

"See?" called one of the Homicide detectives. "Doc wants to play with us."

"Yeah," said Frost smugly. "She's one of us. So, she plays with us."

"She's not one of _you_. She's the chief ME, which means she doesn't have any particular allegiance."

"Hey idiot," said Frost again. "Think about it. ME works in the morgue. With dead people. Homicide works with dead people. _Therefore_, she comes with us."

"No way."

"Good argument."

"Maura," said Jane, huskily. "Where do you want to play?"

Maura had looked over at Ian, who desperately beckoned her over with his eyes. And then she had looked over at Jane. Jane's stare was intense. Drawing her. She didn't notice anything else. She had read, somewhere, once, that a person can be so absorbed in a single eye connection that the whole room around her can change, and she wouldn't notice a thing. The softball field could've turned into Rome and Maura wouldn't have noticed that anything had changed.

She had walked over and stood next to Jane, looking pointedly over at Ian. She still stung over her little argument over Jane. Jane smiled, slightly triumphantly, ridiculously happy that she had just one-upped Ian.

Frankie, being passed over for ump, had begun his vigil in the corner of the Homicide bullpen and looked over at the retreating Financial Crimes detectives.

"Ha," he said, under his breath.

As the game was about to begin, Maura pulled off her yoga pants and track jacket. Jane, still next to her, had pinched the bridge over nose, not daring to catch another glance. Maura was wearing that outfit again, the one that hugged tightly to her skin. Jane felt the blush rising up her neck.

She swallowed; "Maura," she had said. "You look ridiculous."

"I told you, Jane. It's aerodynamically advantageous. They really should make it the uniform in professional softball."

"No, Maura. Just… no."

So now, in the top of the sixth, Jane was jogging away from Maura. It didn't help that she wasn't looking back at Maura. She could imagine the way the spandex fit around her body. She could see it in her head, and _that _she couldn't turn away from.

Seventh inning. Bottom of the seventh inning. Tie game. Jane was next in the line-up. There was one out, but Homicide needed just one run to win the game.

"Easy out," smirked Ian, now from the pitching mound. He had left the outfield to pitch.

"You got closers now?" taunted Jane, back. "That's really unnecessary. You guys aren't _that _good. We'll just kick your ass to show you."

"Hey, Maura," called out a Homicide detective. "Stand behind Jane and jump around. He'll probably throw the ball a couple yards off!"

"Ump!" whined Ian.

"Just throw the damn ball."

The ball followed an arc again. Ian wasn't that good of a pitcher. He was just a little better than the rest. Jane struck out to first time. The second time, she fouled.

"Strike two!"

"Jane! Rigid back!"

Jane laughed at Maura's tip. She stared down Ian. To hell with him. She wasn't going to get beat. Not by Ian, and not in front of Maura.

She swung the bat.

The ball flew cut through the air before landing considerably deep into the outfield. She began to round the bases. First base, and then second. The outfield was still fumbling over the ball.

"Run, Jane, run!"

She stepped on the third base bag, before heading into home. She caught glared at Ian who had pushed the catcher aside to take over the plate. The ball was sailing through the air again. One of the outfielders had a good arm. Ian had his mitt out under the ball.

Ian was also in the way.

Jane slid anyway, cleats first. A combination of dirt and chalk flew up into the air. She felt something hard smack the spikes of her cleats. Jane's momentum won out. She didn't breathe, or open her eyes, until the dust had settled and until she had stopped on the plate.

The ball was lying a couple feet from the plate. So was Ian. He didn't get a chance to catch the ball. It deflected off the tip of his mitt as he fell.

"Safe," called the ump, swinging his arms as Ian got up.

"Ump!" he whined. "She kicked me!"

"You were in the way. Game over. Homicide wins."

The Homicide detectives cheered.

* * *

><p>Detectives from both teams filled the Dirty Robber. Post-game drink. No one was allowed to miss out. It was one of the unwritten rules of Boston PD softball. No leaving during drinking time. Jane bought the third round.<p>

"Drink up," she said.

She lifted the neck of her beer towards the other detectives, to which they reciprocated. Most of the Financial Crimes boys had gotten over the sting of their loss, which was generally the point of the post-game drink.

"I love beer," sighed one of the fraud boys.

Jane didn't mind most of the fraud detectives. She could admit it; she just held an insistent bias against Ian. Not their fault.

"Enjoy it," she said. "I want all that money to be well-spent."

"You played good, Rizzoli," said another fraud detective.

"She kicked all your asses, is what happened," said Frost. He pointed at Ian. "Especially yours."

Everyone laughed.

"Whatever. I got you beat in other ways," smiled Ian. "I mean, you just jockey the desks, right? All you _female _detectives."

Jane narrowed her eyes.

A drunk fraud detective joined in; "What Ian here's trying to say is…" His words were slurred. "Just some jobs we boys are better at. You know, because of a muscle mass."

"Don't be a prick, man," said Frankie. "A bullet'll punch right through. Muscle mass or no muscle mass."

"No offense, honey," smiled Ian. "It's just the difference between guys and girls. Women are still part of the team. There's that saying, you know, the strongest woman's equal to the weakest man."

"What?" said Frost. "That's bullshit. Jane. You there. Arm wrestle. Right now."

"Fuck you. I'm not the weakest," said the detective. He was new to the Financial Crimes unit, and he wasn't exactly small. The kid wasn't that weak, either. Everyone knew that. He almost aced his physical test for crying out loud.

"Just do it, man," prompted Frankie.

"Alright! Shit. Fine. Get over here, Rizzoli."

"Really? I just wanted to drink my beer. Let's just get this done and over with."

Frankie stood between them, holding their held fists; "Alright, let's have a clean fight here. No head butting and no eye gouging. That would be disgusting, and I don't know how that'd even work. One, two, three."

He lifted his hands up in the air, and the two detectives stood at a standstill. Jane's face didn't even twitch. Slowly, Jane brought the other man's hand down to the table, his face scrunched in pain.

"What the hell, kid?"

"What? I never said she isn't strong. She's strong. I'm man enough to admit it."

"Good for you," said Frost. "Well that settles that. Next round on me?"

"You know," said Ian. "I got a buddy who works for NYPD. He's in with Vice. He had a name for all you female detectives."

"You better shut the fuck up," said Jane, carefully.

"Called you all fags. Or dykes. Whichever one rolled off the tongue first," he sneered.

"Dude. Not cool." One of the fraud detectives turned to Jane. "We just ignore him. Sorry."

"No, it's fine. I gotta go find Maura. I gotta give her something."

Jane got up and started to walk away. She ignored the presence behind her.

"The hell you are," he growled. He grabbed her by the rest.

"Hey, man," said Frankie, grabbing Ian by the wrist. "Let go of my sister. Leave her alone."

"You need your little brother to take care of you, dyke? You stay away from my girlfriend, you hear? Faggot?" Ian began to sneer. "Sit. Down."

Jane twisted around, punching Ian in the stomach, causing him to reel back and let go of wrist. She punched him in the face.

"There. Now you got permission to hit me. Go ahead. Try."

Ian grabbed her by the neck and squeezed, bringing his other hand up to backhand an approaching Frankie and to wind up his punch. Without a word, Jane worked out of the grip and nailed the other detective in the stomach twice before nailing him beneath the jaw. Ian landed his punch, square in the middle of Jane's face. The back of her head smacked against the wall. She slid down as Ian stood over her.

Slowly Jane lifted herself up the ground, wiping away the blood that had dripped from her nose. Ian punched her again in the stomach. Blood dripped down from her nose.

"I thought I told you to sit the fuck down."

Jane lifted her self up again, quicker this time, and sent him reeling and groaning with another punch. She used one hand to grab Ian on one shoulder, pulling the one shoulder closer to her. Simultaneously Jane used the other hand to push the other shoulder back, and used one leg to pull Ian out from beneath him.

He landed on the floor, groaning. He didn't get up.

"What's going on here?"

Jane looked up to see Maura. She had heard her voice. Exasperated. Angry. Scared. Maura was scared. _She's scared of _me. _She's scared of what _I _did…_

It didn't escape her that Maura had walked in precisely when Jane had decked Ian and subsequently sent him to the ground. Where he still was, mind you.

"What did you do, Jane? You can't just… Jane!"

Jane walked up towards Maura.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, her voice husky.

When Maura looked at her, the exhaustion finally shone through. Maura had thought that Jane looked terrible before, but she looked worse now, even if she didn't have all those scratches and bruises that were starting to appear across her face. The bags beneath her eyes were darker. Her jaw was tenser. Her eyes were set deeper into her face. Sullen.

"Jane… Why?" she whispered. "You can't… Why? What did you do?"

"I'm sorry," Jane breathed again. Her voice grew huskier. "I'm sorry."

Jane grabbed a bottle of beer from a dumbstruck Frost and left the Dirty Robber. She brought the cool liquid to her lips and winced as she felt it slide down her throat. The bar was still silent behind her. Slowly, she let her self stumble away, into the darkness, the pavement harsh beneath the soles of her shoes, the smell of piss, blood, and beer filling her head.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm just going to take this moment to say that Allen Schindler is an actual person who was indeed stationed on the USS Belleau Wood. He was not a Marine, but a sailor. When the ship came into port in Japan, Petty Officer Third Class Allen Schindler was beaten to death by Airman Apprentice Terry M. Helvey and his accomplice, Charles Vins. His body was only identifiable by his distinct tattoos. Charles Vins was discharged from the Navy and served a short prison sentence. Helvey is currently serving a life sentence at a military prison. Petty Officer Schindler was in the process of separating from the Navy at the time of his death in 1992, due to a string of various anti-gay harassment and death threats.<strong>


	9. Desperado

**I don't own anything... Although one of the scenes in that last chapter _was _based on A Marine's Story, as someone was adept enough to figure out. I thought the scene would fit very well here... And again, thank you all for the wonderful reviews. I also hope you all have been enjoying the song selections. ;)**

**Desperado - The Eagles**

**"The house was locke, and he thought that the stupid cook or the stupid maid must have locked the place up until he remembered that it had been some time since they had employed a maid or a cook. he shouted, pounded on the door, tried to force it with his shoulder, and then, looking in at the windows, saw that the place was empty." - John Cheever's "The Swimmer"**

"Where is she, Frost?"

"I don't know. I don't. Really."

"She's your _partner_. How can you not know? Did you call her?"

Even Frost couldn't tell what Maura was thinking.

"No. Wait. I mean, it's her day off. As prone to danger as she is," said Frost, pointedly. "I can't keep tabs on her when I don't have any reason to. Hoyt's still in jail last time I checked, and we aren't working on any case. I hope we're not anyway."

"Did you call her?" repeated Maura. Her voice was stern. Very stern.

"I called her. And she picked up. She didn't sound like she was feeling too hot, but…" Frost put his hand up to silence Maura. "But it didn't sound like she wanted to speak to anybody either. She doesn't want to see anyone, doc."

"I don't care. I need to find her."

"What's going on, doc?" Frost's voice softened.

"I… I need to find out what's been going on. I'm going to go find Jane."

Maura blinked back tears as she left the bullpen. She had been desperately hoping that Jane would be there. But… Jane was not. Her desk was eerily empty. Quietly she left one of her lab techs in charge, her head running through every single detail of the past weeks. Was it weeks?

Yes, the desk was empty. It was without Jane. It didn't help that everything was scared away into neat piles, and that space was, simply, uncharacteristically clean. There was hardly a speck of dust on the edges of the black keys. Change normally didn't bother Maura. It did this time. It unsettled her. Deeply.

She couldn't get Jane's eyes out of her head, how they had looked when Jane had stopped in front of her at the bar, after throwing Ian to the ground. Never, in all her days of knowing Jane, had she seen a look like that on her. Not even when Hoyt broke free. With him, it was fear. Anger. But now… She didn't see anger in Jane's eyes. She didn't see a shred of it. She didn't even see frustration.

Maura saw hurt.

No, more than that she saw pain.

She saw devastation.

The devastation was vivid in Jane Rizzoli's eyes; it was so vivid, it threatened to break free from that liquid membrane and scream. And never stop screaming. It was the kind of devastation that made you want to go out to some lonely place and yell until your throat bled out. And even then you would just keep yelling, screaming, but the sound would just lay behind the tongue, trapped.

Maura was angry with Jane. No, upset was the better word. Frustrated, even better. Ian had refused to remove his body up from the dirty floor, and the bruise around his eye had already begun to darken. _He probably has a concussion_, Maura thought. Silently – and clinically – Maura listed to herself the different injuries Ian had sustained.

But there it was again. Jane's eyes. They wouldn't go away. They wouldn't leave. The devastation haunted Maura Isles.

She was in front of Jane's apartment door. She hardly remembered getting there. All she knew was that she needed to find Jane. Maura was confused, and if, in that moment, Maura knew anything at all, it was that she did not like being confused. She did not like it at all. She found the doorbell and pressed it with the pad of her finger.

She could feel her blood pumping through her veins against the doorbell.

"Maura! Uh, hi."

Maura looked at the Rizzoli in front of her.

"Frankie?"

"Hi, doc."

"Where's… I… I'm looking for Jane."

"Look, why don't you come in."

The sight that greeted Maura surprised her almost as much as Jane's eyes did. She hadn't seen the apartment in a long while, and looking back now, she realized that Jane, throughout the Schindler case, had not let her in. They had always gone to Maura's apartment. She hadn't questioned those actions until now.

Clothes were piled up on the couch, spilling down onto the floor, mingling with the dirty dishes and old plastic Chinese food containers that littered the table in front of the TV. Old newspapers piled up next to the refrigerator, and the microwave door swung open; Maura could see the stains that adorned its walls.

Every beer bottle had its label ripped from its body, and they were even more ubiquitous than the haphazard piles of clothing. But there weren't only beer bottles lying around. The bottles were chunkier. Larger. Whisky?

Looking around, Maura could see the labels that had been torn off of those bottles too. Jim Beam. Jack Daniels. Jamieson. Wild Turkey. She lost count of how many labels and bottles and beer stains she had found with her eyes.

"It's kinda shocking, huh?"

"Yes…"

"She never got like this before. She just… I think she stopped caring."

"Stopped caring?"

"About how she was living… Look, it's not in my place to say anything. It's just something you're going to have to talk about with her."

"Is she here?" asked Maura, her voice reduced to a whisper.

Frankie paused before shaking his head; "No, she's not. I'm just here to water some plants and pick up Jo Friday. She called me earlier today and asked me to. Haven't heard from her since."

"She hasn't called me at all…"

"You know, she just needs some time, alright? She'll come around. Jane always does."

"No she doesn't. She doesn't ever really come around, does she? She just pretends to." Maura looked up at Frankie, her eyes frantic. "All I've given her is time. She asked for it, and I've given it to her. I will keep giving her time. No matter what. But I need to know why."

"I wish I could tell you that."

"Why won't you?" Maura's voice was unabashedly innocent. Honest.

"It's something Jane needs to tell you." He smiled weakly at the doctor. "Plus, she'll kick my ass if it's me who says it. I'm pretty sure I'd be out for a week."

"Could you tell me about last night?" she asked, quietly.

"What about last night?"

Frankie was hesitant. Worried.

"In the bar. With Ian. I need to know what happened. I know none of this is about last night. This is about something bigger. But I need to know something. I need to come out from this knowing something."

"I guess… I can tell you a little about this one. Sit tight, though. I gotta start earlier. Way earlier. Everything might make a little more sense for you. That alright?"

"Yes. Please go ahead."

"Well, you know, Jane doesn't tell this to anybody, but when she first started out as a cop, she was working down in Baltimore. She never made detective there, but she worked about a year and a half working the streets as a beat cop. She came back home, did two more years and got tapped for detective. But she was planning to stay down there in Baltimore. There was this nice FBI spot that might've opened up for her in DC, and I got a feeling she was thinking about it.

"Anyway, she has this partner, see? The paired her with another woman. Someone who'd been there a little longer. Knew the system better. As a woman. Well…" Frankie's voice lowered and grew strained. "This cop… people didn't like her too much. You know how people are with female cops. Well being partners and all, her and Janie got close, and people like that less.

"The two of them got threats. Death threats sometimes. Apparently they came in the mail a lot. Janie always said the phone calls were worse. Hearing the voice made it real or something. Well, one night, Janie gets home after a shift and her aparment's all torn up, and her walls are covered in that annoying red spray paint. You know what it says? Dyke. In real big letters. But even that didn't bother her too much. She still stayed down there in Baltimore. Said she was still doing good things, so why leave?

"I guess that's Janie… But… They found that other cop's body in the back of a cruiser. I never saw the pictures, but Janie described it for me once. Not in detail. But I got some sort of picture of what it looked like. The cop was all beat up, bruises everywhere. Cuts, scrapes, the whole shebang. But… whoever did carved fag real deep in her back…"

Frankie looked up at Maura before starting to speak again; "That's when she came back home. To Boston."

"Jane… Oh, Jane…" Maura felt her eyes begin to water. "But… what does this have to do with last night?"

"Ian. He brought up some bad shit. Said stuff about Baltimore. Said stuff about Jane. He… called her… names. And grabbed her. She got up to go look for you. Got tired of the conversation. And he grabbed her."

"What? I… I don't…"

"Listen, I was ready to deck the guy myself. I don't know if he had too much beer in him or what. I don't know him, and I guess he doesn't know Jane too well. But he was way outta line."

"That… None of that sounds like Ian."

"Look, Maura. All this is a whole lotta information. Go home? Rest up?"

Maura shook her head; "No… I need to… Jane. I need to find Jane."

"Hey. Hey. Doc? Look at me. She didn't sound good on the phone, okay? She was in real bad shape. I know she's not driving… Her car's still parked at the precinct. But listen. She wasn't doing good. And… it wouldn't do any good to talk to her now. When she comes back and sobers up I'll let you know, okay?"

Maura nodded.

"Do you need a ride to your place.

Maura shook her head.

"Alright. I'll see you later again?"

Maura nodded again.

And then she left.

The images burned deep into Maura's head. The desk. The apartment. The eyes… Always with the eyes… This wasn't like Jane. Jane Rizzoli was bubbly. Driven. Fiery. Sarcastic. Jane reminded Maura of a lion. This Jane was different.

Subdued.

Again, Maura found herself in front of an apartment. It was her apartment now: Maura's. The key clicked in and turned, freeing up the handle. Maura walked in.

The lights were still on. Dimmed. The curtains were closed tight. Ian had not moved from the coach, the bag of frozen peas still covering his face, a hand lying lazily over it. She shivered. He had turned the air conditioner up. A lot. After setting her handbag down on the kitchen counter, Maura walked over by Ian and sat on the portion of the coach were his legs gave space.

"Maura?" he grumbled.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like shit. Rizzoli messed me up good." He moved the bag of peas from his face, to look up at Maura. His bruise was dark. "If she were a guy… I would have hit her so hard… But hey." Ian smiled. "I still got my honor. Chivalry isn't dead, you know?"

"Frankie said you grabbed her."

"Frankie? Who?"

"Jane's little brother, Ian."

"Oh… Him."

"Are you lying to me?"

"No, Maura! I swear I'm not. Alright. I grabbed her wrist. But I was drunk. That's all I did. I promise."

"Her face… It didn't look like that was all you did. Tell me the truth. Right now."

Maura had gotten him and had begun to pace. She stopped when she felt a body press up against her back. Ian had lifted himself off the couch.

"Some of my buddies roughed her up a little… I didn't mean for it to happen, it just did. I can't control everything they do. You saw what Jane did to me."

Maura silently wished she had asked Frankie for more details about the night.

"I don't know what to believe, Ian. None of that sounds like Jane. Jane wouldn't just do that. I know her."

"Maybe you don't know her as well as you thought you did."

Maura grew silent. None of it settled right in her stomach. Jane's eyes ate at her. She had always loved Jane's eyes. Sometimes, she caught herself looking into them, losing herself in the strong gaze. Just by looking into Jane's eyes, she could always feel like someone had her around the waist, tenderly embracing her. But the devastation… The pure unadulterated devastation…

Ian used one hand to grasp Maura by the shoulder and turned her around to face him. He cupped her face in his palms and slowly moved in to kiss her.

His kiss was passionate. Maura kissed back only enough to ward off suspicion, but she couldn't bring herself to do more. It made her sick to the stomach to even consider it.

Guilt. Maura Isles felt guilty.

She gasped when she heard a hard sharp knock on the door. She knew that knock in an instant. When she heard Jane's voice, her husky, slurred voice, she pulled her face away from Ian, but he only brought it back to his.

"Maura? You there? Maura?"

Maura could imagine Jane leaning against the door, her forehead pressed up against the surface, her fist still propped up where she had knocked.

"Please, Maura… Please, I need you." Jane's voice cracked.

The desperation broke Maura's heart. The devastation she had seen in Jane's eyes… She could hear it now too. She felt tears begin to pop into her eyes. She tried to pull away. She wondered to herself if Ian was deaf, as he hardly seemed to notice the commotion that was occurring behind the front door. He only pulled Maura closer.

"Ian," she pleaded, whispering.

Ian brought her back into the kiss, and Maura's ears buzzed. Jane. She needed to get to Jane. She didn't hear or notice anything else. She didn't hear the click of a key in the lock, and she didn't hear the handle push down. She didn't hear the sound of the door opening. She could only feel Ian's tongue push down her throat.

"Maura?"

Jane filled the name with more pain than Maura could handle. The detective's voice shook, and Maura watched as the other woman struggled to find something to support herself with. She looked as though she were about to vomit. The tears that had only threatened Maura earlier released themselves onto her cheeks without abandon. Maura had finally wrenched herself away from Ian's grasp, who looked over at the other detective, surprised etched across his features.

"She has a key?" he muttered, to himself.

"Jane, please. I'm sorry! I didn't… I didn't mean… Jane!"

But Jane Rizzoli had already turned around, stumbling away. Maura heard the shattering of broken glass, and she felt herself lurch forward, despite Ian's protest, towards the invisible trail Jane had left.

Jane's voice echoed in her ears: "Please, Maura… Please, I need you…"


	10. Kings Horses

**I still don't own anything.**

**Kings Horses - JET**

**"I had been sick for a long time. When the day came for me to leave the hospital, I barely knew how to walk anymore, could barely remember who I was supposed to be. Make an effort, the doctor said, and in three or four months you'll be back in the swing of things. I didn't believe him, but I followed his advice anyway." - Paul Auster's Oracle Night**

* * *

><p>"Jane? Jane! Please don't leave! Wait, I'm sorry. Please!"<p>

Jane stumbled away from Maura. They were outside now.

"No," she slurred. She shook her head. "No."

"Please, Jane." Maura's voice calmed down. She struggled to keep her breathing down too. "Can you let me help you? Jane, you're bleeding…"

"No." Jane attempted to stumble in the other direction. "Doesn't matter…"

Jane had dropped her bottle in the hallway. The gash on her forearm dripped with fresh blood, staining her soiled shirt. The skin felt tight.

She tensed when she felt a pressure on her back. Maura had hugged her from behind. Steadying her. Instinctively she let air flood through her nose. Then, her mind reeling, she attempted to pull herself away, but to no avail.

"You shouldn't touch me," whispered Jane.

Maura winced. It held the same tone as before. The unadulterated desperation. The devastation. Slowly she let go, only to turn Jane to face her. She took the injured forearm into her hand, doing her best not to look up at the deeply bruised face. She wiped away some of the blood with her thumb.

Normally, she wouldn't. Not with her own bare skin. But with Jane? With Jane's blood?

"You're… you're going to need stitches. I need to clean up this laceration, or it will get infected."

Jane was silent. Maura continued; "You're inebriated. It's bleeding out more. I'll… Please let me help you, Jane."

"Not going back in there."

"I won't ask you to," whispered Maura. She felt guilty but couldn't figure out why. "I'll take you to your apartment, and we'll clean this up there, okay?"

Jane shook her head; "Aparment… looksh like shit."

"Here." Maura ushered Jane towards the passenger side of her car. "Sit down. I'll drive you."

"What about… him?" Jane slurred as Maura turned the keys and started to drive.

Jane couldn't bring herself to say his name.

"Ian is a big boy. He can take care of himself. You need stitches."

"I'm sorry," Jane whispered, her voice husky. Her head was leaning on the window. Her arms were wrapped around herself. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Maura's eyes were trained on the road.

"I messed things up," she slurred, in response. "I fucked up, and now everything's… messed up… My fault…"

Maura winced as Jane continued to ramble, the alcohol clearly lubricating the words.

"I need you," she slurred, huskily. Her voice came down to a whisper again. "I'm sorry."

"Please stop being sorry," whispered Maura, back. "You don't have to be sorry about anything."

"No," Jane said, shaking her head vigorously. "I messed everything up… I made it stop working…" She turned her head towards Maura, and the doctor could suddenly feel the intense gaze locking onto her. "It hurts," she said, without any emotional filter, and Maura knew she was not talking about the gash.

The lump in Maura's throat stopped her from saying anything.

And neither said anything until Maura's car pulled up beneath the streetlight. Maura pushed herself out of the car before walking over to the other side to help Jane out. Slowly the two of them walked towards Jane's apartment steps.

She stumbled forward, and with two arms, Maura caught her. Jane caught the stair railing with one hand and vomited, and as Maura held the detective's hair back, her heart broke. The pain shattering Jane's body was shockingly clear and began to permeate into Maura.

Maura set Jane down onto a seat before retrieving a first aid kit from her car. Upon coming back, she quickly wiped away the blood with the wipes, doing her best to sanitize the cut without hurting Jane. She brought the needle to Jane's skin and closed the laceration, finishing with the small bandages she kept. She made a mental note to buy larger ones for the kit.

For the first time in a while, Maura looked up at Jane's face. The bruises were a deep, dark color. Both her eyes seemed even further deeply set, the bruises covering them almost black. She brought her palm to Jane's face and winced with the latter instinctively pulled back. Slowly she touched the skin again, feeling Jane's muscles relax beneath her fingers.

Maura gently ran her thumb against Jane's cheek, tears threatening to fall from her eyes again. Her fingers found Jane's nose.

She smiled weakly before speaking; "Do you want me to put it back?" she whispered, quoting Jane.

And Jane smiled ever so slightly before nodding. She grabbed Maura's free hand, anticipating the pain that would reverberate through her face. With a small pop, the broken nose was back into place.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Their fingers weaved together, and Maura felt Jane's pained breath calm. Calm was beginning to overtake the detective in front of her.

"How much did you drink tonight?" she asked.

Jane shook her head.

"I've never seen you… this inebriated before..."

Jane shook her head again. So Maura sighed and got up, stepping over piles of clothing to get to the kitchen. Jane let out a small whine when feeling the warmth leave her hand.

"Let me just get you some water, okay? You're dehydrated."

This time, Jane nodded, and when the water was given to her, she gratefully relieved her stinging, parched throat. Maura put her hand back into the detective's.

"You said… You said you were sorry," said Maura, her voice painted too. "But it's not you who should be sorry, is it? It's me… It's me who've done something. I'm the one who did something wrong, aren't I?"

"No." Jane shook her head. "Me. My fault. Not yours. Please."

"You've been pulling away, Jane. You said that you weren't. Not anymore. But I felt it, and I gave you time like you asked. But that wasn't enough, was it? Whatever I was doing wrong before, I was still doing it, and I was only making things worse." Tears fell from Maura's eyes. "Wasn't I?"

"No!" Jane's voice was stronger, and she was shaking her head more vigorously. "You didn't do anything wrong. But you shouldn't be around me," she whispered. "I'm… no good to be around. I'm dangerous."

"What are you saying Jane?"

"Ian isn't good for you." Maura looked away as Jane slurred her words. "He's an ass. You deserve… better than him. But… you gotta go find someone else. The kinda guy you deserve… who'll take care of you proper."

Both of them, for some reason, heard the unspoken words that never left Jane's mouth. The unspoken words that should've finished Jane's sentence. _Like I would._ Maura couldn't place the feelings that were beginning to sprout and grow in her heart. No; they were already there. They had already been planted, and they had already sprouted. But they had grown to the point were Maura, Doctor Maura Isles, finally noticed them. She tried desperately to identify the feeling.

"I don't understand what you are trying to say, Jane."

And Jane looked away, frustrated that her drunk mind couldn't figure out a way to get the message across.

Maura brought her free hand to Jane's face again, gently running her thumb over the bruises. The skin was tender and Maura flinched.

"Ian said… Ian said that his colleagues did this to you… but… it was him, wasn't it? He did this to you?"

Jane put her other hand over Maura's; "I want you to be happy."

"Please, Jane. Please answer my question."

"You deserve… to be happy," she slurred, side stepping.

"Please don't avoid the question. Please don't deflect. I need to know."

"Does he make you happy?" she asked, pain breaking through her voice. "When he holds you, are you happy? Are you happy when he kisses you? You… should be happy. I want to see you happy. That's… all that matters."

Suddenly Maura found herself the one unable to answer the question posed. She opened her mouth to speak, only to close it again, realizing she didn't have the right words at the ready. She continued to run the pad of her thumb across Jane's cheek, relishing in the contact. Jane's eyes fluttered close and a breath escaped her lips. She mirrored Maura's thumb by drawing her own shapes across Maura's hand.

She imagined Maura's lips against hers. She imagined what it would feel like, their lips moving together, meeting finally. She imagined what it would feel like to have their bodies fit together, to have skin touching skin. She imagined what it would be like to have Maura love her.

Jane didn't open her eyes, terrified that she might lean forward out of her own accord and kiss the doctor in front of her.

Neither woman spoke in a long while, both afraid to shatter some invisible thing that floated somewhere in the room. Neither could really identify what this invisible thing was but they knew it was there. They both did.

It was a while before Maura could rack up the courage to stand up and pull away from Jane, their fingers still intertwined.

"You should rest," she whispered, pulling Jane towards the bedroom.

Maura sat Jane down onto the bed before lowering herself to untie and remove Jane's shoes. She laid Jane down onto the bed, grazing the skin of her thumb over Jane's cheek one last time, memorizing the sensation and logging it somewhere in her head, her memory.

"I'll be on the couch. If you need me… Just call."

"No," whispered Jane.

Maura felt a hand wrap gently, but firmly, around her wrist. She looked back towards Jane.

"Stay," whispered the detective.

Slowly, the doctor complied, lying herself onto the bed. The two woman looked up at the ceiling, their bodies above the covers.

Maura had told herself not to, but she fell asleep before Jane did. Of course, Jane didn't sleep. She couldn't. Maura had brought a couple glasses of water earlier, and Jane had been downing the glasses slowly. She could feel herself beginning to sober up.

Maura's head found Jane's neck again. Her legs rubbed against Jane's.

Jane shivered at the combination of the two sensations and swallowed hard.

She felt Maura's arm throw itself across Jane's stomach, her hand finding Jane's hip and sneaking underneath the shirt. Jane could feel her heartbeat tremble through her. The blood pumped through her ears quickly and loudly. Maura's hand traveled up Jane's skin, closer to Jane's breasts, and Jane felt the moan escape her lips.

"Maura," she said.

The woman's eyes fluttered open. A part of her was still sleeping. Confused she tried to pull away and get up from the bed. Her hand slipped on the fabric and she fell, her body topping Jane's. She could feel Jane's labored breathing on her skin.

Neither woman could ignore how close, at that moment, their lips were. And neither woman could speak.

Every muscle in Jane's body told her to close the gap, to simply lift her head the half an inch, and let the two sets of lips meet. She had never thought so quickly in her life. Every image of Maura, every hint that Maura might've left behind, every word that Maura ever said… They all blasted through Jane's head in that moment. All at once.

She really couldn't call it thinking.

So when Jane Rizzoli strained her neck up, even she was surprised.

Their lips didn't move. Their lips were just pressed together.

Jane shifted ever so slightly, wondering if she should deepen the kiss.

But Maura had already pulled away. She was awake now, and she had pushed herself back over to the other side of the bed. She stared over at the other woman as she touched that patch of skin where Jane's lips had just recently been.

"Jane?" she said, her voice shaking, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I… What is… I can't… I just… I can't, Jane. Oh, Jane… This… Us… I can't do this."

Jane, too, pushed herself away from where she had been lying. She let her feet touch the floor, her back now turned to Maura. She hadn't cried in a long time. She never allowed herself the pleasure. But now, when she wanted them the least, they began to touch her eyes.

"No," she said. The desperation was back in Jane's husky voice. "You're right. You can't do this. You shouldn't do this… I'm not… I'm not good enough. I never was."

"Jane… That's…"

"No. I'm a cop and I'm not safe to be around. I'm hot tempered. I'm stubborn. I'm dumb. Hell…" The unshed tears began to touch Jane's voice. "Hell, I'm just a dumb cop, and there isn't no use fighting for me."

Maura didn't move, dumbstruck. She hardly could comprehend just what was going on around her. Her mind jumbled Jane's words, and all Maura saw – all Maura heard – was reduced to a series of hot flashes. Tears were streaming down the doctor's face. Jane knew they were. So as she stood up from the bed and walked towards the door, she didn't dare look back.

"I'm not going to ask you to leave," she said. She had sobered up considerably. Enough to speak without a blatant slur, anyway. "You came all the way out here for me, so… Stay. I… I'll go to my parent's place." Jane paused before speaking again. She was about to close the door behind her. "Don't worry, okay? I won't do nothing stupid."

And so Maura was left in the darkness of Jane's apartment, with nothing but the sound of her own confused sobs.

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><p>Jane grimaced as the blast of humidity pushed her face when she walked outside. She turned, stumbling slightly as she tried to find a cab that would take her away. No cab would come down this street this late at night, not on its own accord anyway. She walked towards the brighter lights of a main street.<p>

She never heard the footsteps creep up behind her, not until the muffled hand sealed her mouth shut. The man's breath was hot against the skin of her ear as he spoke. He smelled like piss, and her consciousness was beginning to fade.

"A drunk, banged-up Jane Rizzoli… Must be my lucky day, detective," said the familiar voice. It grew closer and hotter on Jane's ear. "Looks like you're listening to your heart too much again, Jane."


	11. Mad World

**I don't own anything... I'm going to have to ask everyone to bear with me again. I'm uploading this chapter and the next at the same time, so everyone just trust me. I don't normally do this, and I don't like doing this, but I'm feeling nervous about this chapter.**

**Also, if you haven't been listening to the music that's totally cool. But I'm gonna say, you're really going to want to listen to this track while reading this one. It enhances the experience.**

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><p><strong>Mad World - Gary Jules with Michael Andrews<strong>

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><p><strong>"Our two souls therfore, which are one,<strong>

**Though I must go, endure not yet**

**A breach, but an expansion,**

**Like gold to aery thinness beat.**

**If they be two, they are two so**

**As stiff twin compasses are two;**

**They soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show**

**To move, but doth, if th' other do.**

**And though it in the center sit,**

**Yet, when the other far doth roam,**

**It leans, and hearkens after it,**

**And grows erect, as that comes home.**

**Such wilt thou be to me, who must,**

**Like th' other foot, obliquely run;**

**Thy firmness makes my circle just,**

**And makes me end where I begun."**

**- excerpt from John Donne's "A Valediction Forbidding Mourning"**

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><p>They found Jane Rizzoli's body on the couch of an average middle class family's home, not far from Fenway Park. The children were away at some sort of summer school and the parents had used the much needed alone time for a drink. They came home in the early morning, just as the sun was rising. They hadn't been home in days. They had stayed at a friend's place. That night, they hit at least two bars, three clubs, and some chain restaurant that was selling a large bucket of chicken for three dollars.<p>

They came home to a body. And blood. The blood stained the soft white carpeting they had installed a month ago. The mother had spent half a year deciding on what kind of carpeting she wanted. She was deciding between the blue material – the one with the shorter hairs – and the one that adorned their floor when they walked in. Severely rattled and in a heavy state of shock, all she could think about was how she wished she had chosen the blue carpeting instead of the white.

Her husband frantically called the police.

A body, yes. In our living room. Please. Please come… No, no one is here right now, except for us…. We're safe. Our kids are away… Please come. The blood is everywhere. My wife is afraid.

The dispatcher sent an alert, and the first responder arrived on the scene. The moment he saw the badge hanging around the stripped bones, he ran to his radio, desperately waving his partner over to look at the body and the Boston Police Department badge.

He yelled the address into the radio. We got a dead cop here. A detective. A dead cop.

He wondered if the detective was someone he knew. He wondered if he had seen the detective walking around in the precinct. He had only been out on the beat for three months. Being first responder to a dead cop in his first three months. It was too much. Fuck.

When Frost had caught wind of the news, he called Jane. She didn't answer. He called a second time. Still no answer. On the third call, he left a message. It was Jane's night off. But all hands would be on deck for a dead cop case. He called Korsak next. All hands on deck.

Cavanaugh arrived half an hour before Frost and Korsak.

Where's Rizzoli? Fine. So you called. Call again. Did you call Doctor Isles? Well, she should be here too. Call her first.

They still didn't know to whom the bones belonged to, to which detective. Cavanaugh was tempted to do a roll call. They needed ID. Now. The body had been stripped to the bone. No fingerprints, no hair, no nothing. There was only the blood that stained the white, white carpets.

Frankie arrived on the scene, helping the other beat cops keep the growing number of bystanders away. From the corner of his eye he saw his partner put a blanket around the shivering mother. He found Cavanaugh and respectfully asked to see the body. Cavanaugh let him. Frankie's Rizzoli's little sister. He sent him in, to check. Rizzoli wasn't answering his phone. But as much as he wanted an ID… He sure as hell didn't want it to be Rizzoli lying in the room.

They made him wear gloves before he stepped into the house. Frankie walked in closer to the body. The skeleton looked like some corny Halloween decoration. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the small medallion hanging around the body's neck, next to the badge.

No one but him would've noticed it. No one but him and ma.

Frankie wanted to vomit. He felt tears rise up into his eyes. He wanted to punch something. Someone. Anyone. But he wanted to vomit first. He grabbed the back of the couch and was glad he wore the gloves like he was asked. He felt his face go pale. Frost looked over.

You okay, Frankie?

Janie. That's Janie… Fuck, that's Janie, man. That's Janie lying there!

He stepped away from the body, unable to believe his ears. He could see Frankie trembling. Korsak was beginning to notice the commotion. Cavanaugh was outside talking to Maura Isles, who had just arrived on the scene. Her hair was uncharacteristically messy, and she looked like shit.

Frankie was crying.

Ma gave us both these necklaces, see? See?

Frankie pulled his out. St. Christopher's image was emblazoned onto the metal.

She gave them too us both! St. Christopher's head… We used to joke about it. We used to… We…

Frost brought his finger to the necklace. St. Christopher, it said, pray for us. The angel's head seemed to have been forgotten. He jerked his hand away, like the metal had stung him. He felt like vomiting, too. He thought he could deal with the bones. He was proud. He imagined the joke Jane would've come up with, had she been there.

Cavanaugh led Maura into the room.

It's not in your expertise but… Our bone expert isn't getting here until later. Just give us the basics, doc… Yes… Well… Can you just give us an estimate?... It's a cop in there, doc.

But Cavanaugh's heart sunk when he saw Frankie bolt out of the room. He heard retching outside.

Maura Isles was to fazed to notice anything, to notice Frankie's devastated face, or Cavanaugh's defeated expression. She didn't notice Frost, still frozen where he stood. Korsak looked over at Maura with sad eyes. He hadn't said a word since Frankie had spoken. He was waiting for confirmation. From her. Maura.

Maura examined the bones with her usual professionalism.

Woman… Tall…

A feeling began to sink in her gut. The details began to fit together. Frankie. Frost.

Caucasian…

She thought she was done crying. She thought she had exhausted her supply of tears. She could still feel the trails they had left only hours before. It had left her dehydrated and with a headache. She thought she was done crying.

Frost picked up the phone that was lying next to the body. It still had a bar of battery left. One new voice mail. His voice caught in his throat when he heard his voice, informing her of the dead cop some family had found near Fenway.

Caucasian… Of Italian descent…

Doctor Maura Isles fell to the ground. And that was all the confirmation they needed.

Maura, Frankie, and Frost wouldn't be on the case. Cavanaugh stressed that as much as he could, doing his best to beat the concept into their heads. He could tell they weren't listening. He could tell they couldn't even begin to hear a single word. They were grieving. For a friend. A sister. A partner. For Jane Rizzoli.

As they left, to complete the second most dreaded task of the day, Cavanaugh silently grieved, too. Rizzoli was one of the best. One of his best. She was one of his men, and he was responsible for her. And she died on his watch… Like that young private in his squad when he and Korsak chewed dirt in Kuwait. Yes, Korsak would lead this investigation. He knew Jane well and wasn't a legal liability. This was going to be done right.

Maura refused to leave the back of the black car, so only Frankie and Frost went up to knock on the door. Frankie let Frost knock. He couldn't bear to knock on the door of his own home.

But Angela had already seen the black car drive up, and she had already seen one uniformed officer and a man in civilian clothes walk up the small steps, a somber expression glued to their faces. She already saw Frankie, refusing to look at the door.

Frankie's voice was hoarse.

Ma. Janie… She's…

Frost put a hand on Frankie's shoulder. But his voice was hoarse too. Quiet. Soft.

I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am.

Maura watched as Angela collapsed into Frankie's arms, desperately sobbing. Angela had guessed. Angela had known. She had heard about the dead cop – the dead detective – on the police radio that she had secretly swiped, unbeknownst to her children. And when she saw the two of them walk out of the car… But she had hoped, with all her heart, that they were only coming to tell her that her little Janie, her little baby girl, was alive and fine.

Frank, checking to see what exactly was going on, caught glimpse of his wife. When he saw Frankie's face, he knew. It was about Janie. Had the news been about Frankie, or Tommy, Frank would've done for his sons what any other father would've done. He would've let the tears touch his eyes but then he would make them go away. He would be strong.

Janie was her little girl. Daddy's girl. His mind flashed back to memories of a small little female Rizzoli crossing her arms and refusing to apologize to their neighbor's son. She had punched him, and he was crying. He called me a name first, she had exclaimed, feisty.

From the back of the car, Maura could see the three of them together, and Frost. She remembered sitting with Frank, Frankie, and Jane, at the Dirty Robber, trying to fix the pipes. Jane had gotten her to throw nuts at the two, male Rizzoli's.

She remembered Jane's voice, telling Maura that she needed her, from behind her apartment door when Ian would let go. She remembered Jane walking away, telling her not to worry.

I won't do nothing stupid, she had said.

Maura felt the tears fall from her eyes again.

Funeral. It isn't cliché; there is no rain pouring out from the sky. It isn't anti-climatic; there's hardly any sun or birds or bugs. It's plain. There's a drizzle, here and there. Clouds cover the sky and the sun is hard to see but it's still bright and now it's only cool, not humid. Maura expected the sky to have come up with something dramatic. Like thunder. No thunder today. Plain.

Ian had insisted on taking her to the funeral. Maura had refused.

No… Yes, I _am _sorry…. You have to understand… I have to do this alone. I have to go alone… Please, Ian… Just leave.

The guns are fired. Blanks. They still make Maura flinch. Boom. Boom. Boom.

An officer plays Taps. The song breaks Maura's heart.

The detectives won't tell Maura anything about the case. Korsak let it slip that the blood was Jane's. All of it. Maura had measured the amount at the scene. So much blood… Too much blood. Too much blood to lose in one sitting… Without dying.

Police officers gather around the casket and remove the flag. They fold it and one officer kneels in front of Angela Rizzoli, handing her the flag that had just slept over the wood. He leaves and another officer arrives. He kneels before Frank and does the same. The man's jaw tenses as he takes it.

The priest shares a few words.

Jane Rizzoli. Good cop. Hero. Citizen. Friend. Cared too much. Loved. Driven. Driven to protect. Good cop.

Maura remembers Jane's words, the last words that Jane had said to her. The last words that Maura heard from Jane. The last words that Maura would ever hear from Jane.

I'm just a dumb cop, and there isn't any use fighting for me.

Dumb cop… No use… Jane's words.

There's a line. People are saying final goodbyes to Jane. Maura joins the line. She doesn't want to. The line means goodbye. Maura doesn't want to say goodbye. Not to Jane. Not ever. She wants Jane to come back, to walk out from behind the tree and laugh that Jane Rizzoli laugh and tell everyone that it's just a bad joke. A really bad joke. A really, really bad joke. But a joke.

She walks up to the casket and puts her hand on it. She predicts where Jane's hand would be.

What you said, it's not true. You deserve so much. You deserve the world.

Maura chokes back a sob and walks away from the casket, unable to bear anymore. She senses someone coming up behind her to check on her, so she pretends not to notice and walks away.

She wants Jane. She misses Jane.

She feels like fainting but doesn't. Jane's here, she thinks. Jane's watching. Jane doesn't like it when you find. She doesn't like it when you cry. Don't cry, Maura. Don't cry.

She closes her eyes and holds on to a memory of a happier Jane, desperately clutching it, terrified that if, in the days to come, she did not, the memory would disappear, leaving her only with the more bitter memory of Jane's last moments with her.

The smell of the grass at the cemetery made Maura's stomach turn.


	12. Guyamas Sonora

**I don't own anything. And thank you all who decided to bear with me. It will get better, I promise. When it will, I can't say.**

**Guyamas Sonora - Beirut**

**"O, that this too too sullied flesh might melt / Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! / Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd / His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! / How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, / Seem to me all the uses of this world!" - Hamlet from Shakespeare's Hamlet**

"Jane," said the sing song voice. "Jane. Wake up."

Jane kept her eyes shut. The ropes dug into her arms and legs. She couldn't move. Not a single inch. She refused to do what the man said. She kept her eyes shut. Tight. She closed it tighter than necessary, her eyelids stinging.

"I said wake up!" The voice became angry. Harsh. Furious.

Her cheek stung as the man's hand slapped her. Her head was thrown to the side, and her eyes, despite what she truly wanted, opened. And so she saw the room for the first time. The entire thing was concrete. The floor. The walls. The ceiling. She tried to listen for distinguishable sounds from beyond the room. Something. Anything. There were no windows. No sounds.

"Look at me, Jane." The voice was calm and sing song again.

Jane refused.

"I said, look at me!" he roared, forcing Jane's head towards his, his hands clenching the sides of her face, the handle of the scalpel touching her skin. "Very good, Jane. Very good. You see? Nothing _bad _happened. Just do as I say, Jane. Just do as I say."

She sent a spray of spit at his face; "You son of a bitch," she said. "I'm not afraid of you, Hoyt."

Hoyt wiped the spit away from his face before speaking. "Oh, you aren't? You aren't afraid?" He brought the scalpel to Jane's cheek. "You aren't afraid of this little bitty knife here, are you?" He ran it down her neck and her arms. She trembled when she felt to cold metal against the top of her hand. "You aren't afraid?"

She swore, to herself, internally. She willed her body to stop trembling, to just stay still, to not move. To let her beat Hoyt.

"Well, I better not let myself get too ahead of myself here, should I? After all, I've been planning this for a _very_ long time. A very, _very_ long time."

"You've been having a lot of free time rotting in that jail cell of yours?"

"Shut up! This… This is my masterpiece! What people will remember me by. What people will _study_. And you. You, Jane. You will be a part of it. You're name will be remembered too. People will think of my name and they will remember _yours_. Can't you see, detective? I'm giving you a gift!"

"I'm touched."

"Now be quiet Jane. I've got quite the surprise for you. I hate jail cells. I really do. They're… awfully bland, aren't they? Like this one, I might say. I'm not a _monster_, Jane. I've provided you with entertainment! A television!" Hoyt squatted down. Jane finally noticed the old TV that had been placed in front of her. "You know what was my _favorite _kind of television in prison?"

Jane didn't speak. She didn't even open her mouth.

"Answer me!"

"Porn?"

"_Reality _TV, Jane. It was entertaining. Stimulating. MTV. Who would've thought? Watching these people fight, squabble. Watching their _emotions_. Beautiful. Really. Art."

Hoyt switched on the TV with a remote. The scene that appeared was hardly recognizable. It looked like any other street in Boston, brownstone after brownstone. Hell, it could've been New York.

"I would like to share this… passion of mine with you, Jane. After all, we share so much. I assure you, all of this is live. And none of it is scripted. Oh I dislike the scripted scenes. We'll have none of it here. In fact, none of these people will even _know_ they're being taped at all!"

He laughed, the sound echoing over and over and over again against the concrete walls.

"It's art! A masterpiece."

"Yeah, you're fucking Picasso."

"Now, now Jane. No need to get mean. That's just unnecessary, don't you think? Detective?" Hoyt pulled up a stool from behind Jane, so that he could sit next to her. He ran his hand through her hair, stroking. "It's about to start. This is exciting. I'm afraid I don't have any popcorn, but… Oh this will be entertaining enough."

The TV screen showed a couple unlocking the door of the brownstone in the middle. And then a scream. A couple minutes pass. Jane could tell the video was being taken from inside a car. A BPD cruiser appeared on scene. So it was Boston. Two beat cops walk out. One stays by the car with the couple. Taking statements? The other walks in. He runs out and waves the other cop in. He's yelling something into the cruiser radio, but the camera doesn't pick up what he's saying.

More time passes, and Jane feels as though she's watching paint dry. The car drives away, and the brownstone falls out of view, only to come back. Only closer. He ducks under the yellow tape the first responders had put up.

"You fucker. You pulled in a cop on your side? You son of a bitch."

"Now be quiet, Jane. We haven't gotten to the good part yet. I want to see what happens."

They all show up. Detectives. Beat cops. Cavanaugh's there. Frost and Korsak. Whatever this is, it's a big deal. The guy with the camera, the small hidden camera, walks into the brownstone. The camera focuses in on the set of dead bones. The blood. The detective badge.

"You killed a cop?" spat Jane, angrily.

"Don't spoil the good part. Just watch. You'll see."

It isn't much longer until Frankie walks in. He tentatively approaches the body. Almost afraid to find what he's looking for. Definitely afraid to find what he's looking for. Jane watched his face fall, the tears threatening to fall. She jerked towards the screen. He speaks, and this time the camera picks up every word, loud and clear.

Jane tried to look down. The necklace was gone. The necklace that ma gave her wasn't there no more. The pieces fell together. Slowly. She could almost hear the click of each puzzle piece snapping into place.

And there was Maura.

Maura.

Maura who deserved better. Maura who deserved best.

She looked tired. Exhausted. Like she had been crying. It didn't escape Jane that Maura's eyes were distant. Fuzzy. Jane felt her own eyes soften, the pain bubbling in her chest as the doctor began identifying the bones.

"Woman. Tall. Caucasian." And then a pause. Jane watched the realization kick in. She watched as the doctor became more aware. The voice that continued was shaky with tears. "Caucasian… With Italian descent."

Jane let out a yell as she watched the ME fall to the ground, Cavanaugh reacting quickly enough to catch her before she hit the ground.

"That's quite the reaction, Jane," whispered Hoyt. "This is very enjoyable."

"You son of a bitch. They're never gonna buy this. Not for long. You really think this lousy idea's gonna work, dirtbag?"

"Now, now, Jane. You must take me for an idiot. Do you really think…" he leaned in closer to Jane. "Do you really think that I let myself be captured _all _those times? Do you really think I'd be that _stupid_?"

"You seem like the stupid type to me."

"Shut up! Everything, Jane. Everything is part of a plan. Didn't you notice? How I stepped out of my,,, what do you call it… Ah yes, MO. Didn't you notice how I stepped out of my MO with you? How I deviated? Do you really think I would be that _idiotic_? I'm sure you wondered why. Why things happened like they did. You _dream _about me, Jane."

"Fuck you."

"You," Hoyt said, cutting a sliver into Jane's cheek, "are going to have to learn how to listen. Didn't your mother ever teach you good manners?"

"Don't you talk about my mother."

But Hoyt seemed to have forgotten about the slight deviation; "Where was I… Oh yes. The _masterpiece_."

"They're not gonna buy it."

"Yes, they will, Jane. Yes they will. You're probably thinking, oh, well he left all that blood there, from that poor woman. They'll just run tests on it. They'll check. They'll see that it isn't mine. It'll raise suspicions. They'll look into it more!" Hoyt grabbed the back of Jane's head, roaring. "But you're wrong, Jane. You're wrong! You see that blood there? All that blood? It's _yours_."

"There's… too much," she wheezed.

"Every time, detective. Every time we ever crossed paths, I planned for this. And everything that was supposed to happen happened. I drew blood from you, Jane. I had someone keep it. It's all your blood, Jane. All of it!"

Hoyt stood up.

"Now I've got little matters to attend too, so I'm afraid I'll have to take my leave for a little while. I'll… leave you to your entertainment. My little director… He's got the whole thing set up. Hidden cameras… The whole deal!" Hoyt clapped loudly, causing Jane to jump in her binds. "He'll but cutting through the footage live. I'm sure he'll be keeping things… Entertaining for you."

Hoyt left the room.

* * *

><p>The rest of it all blurred together. Every scene, every cut. Jane couldn't look away. She couldn't look away from Maura.<p>

"Eat," Jane begged. "Sleep! Do something. Please!"

But she could only watch as Maura sat motionless in the apartment, her body shaking with broken sobs. Maura was wearing one of Jane's old t-shirts. She hugged herself closer to it and dug her nose in, and breathed. Jane couldn't help but wince every time the camera caught glimpse of one of her eyes. She couldn't help but wince every time she could see the pain and hurt and loneliness echo in Maura's gaze.

"Where is he?" yelled Jane, attempting to push herself towards the television. She didn't know how long it's been. She couldn't tell. Had it been hours? Days? Weeks? "Where is he? Why isn't he taking care of her? I swear to God… Maura… Please… Don't do this to yourself."

Jane wanted nothing more than to hold the doctor in her arms and never let her go. She wanted to feel the doctor's breathing calm against her chest. She wanted to feel the sobs come to a stop. She wanted the pain to leave the doctor's face.

"No!" She yelled, her voice hoarse. "You're… supposed to be happy. Please be happy. Please don't be upset. Please!"

Her breathing was labored. A lump built up in her throat, and it slowly rose.

"Make it stop," she whispered, rocking as much as her binds would let her. "Please make it stop. Just… Make it stop. Turn it off… Kill me… Just make it all stop… Please…"

Sobs trembled through her own body as she watched Maura cuddle up, still clad in Jane's old shirt, above the covers. She knew the doctor wasn't asleep. She could see, and she knew.

"Maura," she whispered, as calmly as she could. She tried to console the imagine behind the glass. "It'll be okay, alright. Everything's gonna turn out fine. Nothing's gonna go wrong, and everything's just gonna work out great, okay? You hear me?"

She didn't know if it were daytime or nighttime, but Jane stayed awake anyway, a good yard and a half away from the curled up Maura. She would go to sleep when she saw Maura sleep.

* * *

><p>"This time," Hoyt said, as he walked in. "I brought popcorn. We're in for a real treat today. Oh a real treat. Not many people get this kind of opportunity. I'm actually quite jealous of you right now."<p>

"Fuck you."

"Now, now. I'm sure your mood will lighten up soon. Oh! It's about to start!"

The TV cut away from Maura's empty apartment. They were outside. Grass. Cars. Men and women in police uniform. Some of them in military and veteran uniforms. A casket appears. And then a line of men. Someone calls out the commands. Gunshots. But Jane knows where they're coming from. Taps. From a trumpet.

Jane watched as her mother broke down in tears, the officers folding the flag that had sat atop Jane's coffin. She broke out in even more tears when the officer knelt and handed it to her. Another flag. For her father. Jane watched as his father clenched his jaw shut. She could see Frankie, the same expression on his face, his fists tightened, his role model, his sister, the one he looked up to, dead.

Frost looked down the entire time. Korsak had his eyes trained ahead. At times like this… When things got hard… That's what Korsak did. Returned to discipline.

Maura sat alone. Away from everybody else. Jane felt her heart break. Shatter.

"She's beautiful, isn't she, Jane?"

"Shut up."

"Id like to… taste her…"

"I said, shut up!" roared Jane.

She could feel the anger blind her, make her mad. Crazy.

"You don't talk about, Maura! You don't touch Maura! Do you hear me? Do you?"

Hoyt chucked into his popcorn; "I'm afraid it's a little too late for that detective. Why don't you look for yourself?"

The body ahd been lowered into the ground. Frank and Frankie had thrown in a couple shovelfuls of dirt. People were beginning to leave in a trickle of black. But Maura. Maura stood alone. By herself. Too far away from the rest of the crowd to be really seen. The camera grew closer and closer to the doctor, and Jane's heart clenched.

"No… no…no! No! No, you son of a bitch! No! Don't touch her!"

"There's nothing you can do, Jane, dear. There's nothing even, I can do. It's already happening!"

"No! Leave her alone! She isn't part of this! Don't! No!"

The camera went on anyway, and suddenly a pair of arms were visible. They reached out and grabbed Maura, pulling her in, covering her mouth, and putting her into a deep, deep sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Next chapter will be up soon.<strong>


	13. Everything Will Be Alright

**I don't own anything... and I'm just going to say that I didn't enjoy writing this chapter. But it has to be there. Kind of like getting a cavity drilled. This song is also worth, in particular, listening to with the chapter.**

**Everything Will Be Alright - The Killers**

**"He remembered the time he had hooked one of a pair of marlin. The male fish always let the female fish feed first and the hooked fish, the female, made a wild, panic-stricken, despairing fight that soon exhausted her, and all the time the male had stayed with her, crossing the line and circling with her on the surface. He had stayed so close that the old man was afraid he would cut the line with his tail which was sharp as a scythe and almost of that size and shape. When the old man had gaffed her and clubbed her, holding the rapier bill with its sandpaper edge and dubbing her across the top of her head until her colour turned to a colour almost like the backing of mirrors, and then, with the boy's aid, hoisted her aboard, the male fish had stayed by the side of the boat. Then, while the old man was clearing the lines and preparing the harpoon, the male fish jumped high into the air beside the boat to see where the female was and then went down deep, his lavender wings, that were his pectoral fins, spread wide and all his wide lavender stripes showing. He was beautiful, the old man remembered, and he had stayed." - Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea**

* * *

><p>"Our guest is here, detective."<p>

Denial. Jane's eyes fluttered open, only to close it again, as quickly as possible. She didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to confront it. She wanted to see something absolutely insane and snap back to reality and out of the dream. She didn't want to look up and see _her_. She didn't want to look down and see _it_, the weight on her lap.

"Where are your manners, Jane? Don't you know how to be polite?"

"J-Jane?"

The unconscious Maura stirred in her sleep, mumbling. Jane let her eyes shoot open, struggling to reach out to Maura. To hold her. To not be stuck in the damn chair with the goddamn teacup in her lap… Helpless. She gritted her teeth. She was absolutely helpless and there was no getting around it. Helpless, useless, shit, it was all the fucking same.

The teacup was white. It looked white to Jane anyway. Maura would've said it were more of an off-white. A cream. Vanilla white. It was plain. Bland. Anti-climatic. Jane had dreamt up a million different tea cups. Blue ones. Green ones. Tea cups with little prints of birds and flowers. Tea cups with gold trim. Tea cups with elaborate designs etched all across the surface. Hoyt had left her with those dreams. Those nightmares.

So maybe it was just another dream. Another dream with an off-white tea cup. The tea cup isn't really there. It isn't real. The ropes around her wrists and arms and legs aren't really there. Hoyt and his goddamn scalpel isn't there.

Maura isn't there. She isn't unconscious on the concrete, and she isn't mumbling Jane's name. She isn't wearing that black outfit she had on at the funeral. She doesn't think that Jane is dead. She's awake. Standing in the morgue. She's waiting for Jane to come down. They're going to talk about the case.

Because Jane isn't really there. If she wanted to, she could slip away from the ropes like a ghost and slide through the walls and just… leave. And wake up. And be a little upset that Jo Friday had made a puddle in the living room because Jane had taken much too long to get out of bed.

She'd go see Maura down at the morgue.

Maura.

The sound of the doctor's quiet, shaky voice jolted Jane from her thoughts. From her hopes.

"J-Jane? Jane…" mumbled Maura, again. "W-where… W-where are you?"

Guilt. The feeling shoved through her bones and muscles and blood. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't hide it from her face and it read on her skin like a book. It was real. The concrete was real. Hoyt was real. It was all… so real. They were there. All of them.

Maura called out to Jane again in her sleep, and the detective's body shook. Hoyt only looked on in sheer amusement. Sheer joy.

She's here because of me. She's here because of me. It's my fault.

_I'm so sorry, Maura. I'm so, so sorry. Please… Please come out of this alive. Unhurt. I'm so sorry._

She can't find anyone to blame except for herself.

If only she had been stronger. Smarter. Better at being a cop… Her mind ran through a thousand different scenarios, a thousand different scenarios with an impossibly different Jane Rizzoli never even allowing something like this to happen.

She wished she had never allowed herself to get too close to the other woman. She knew the risk. She took it anyway. Jane Rizzoli blamed herself.

_I'm so sorry_, she thought again. Her eyes were closed as every shred of fear she had felt since Hoyt's first attack bubbled up into her throat.

Her body tensed and jerked forward at the sight of Hoyt stroking Maura's hair. The chair, the chair that had been bolted down to the ground, shifted with Jane's desperation.

"Let go of her. Don't touch her. Let go of her!"

Her voice was quiet. Flat. Menacing.

The desperation ripped through an internal Jane.

She would've roared at him. Yelled at him. But that would've woken up Maura. She didn't want her to wake up to this, like she had. She didn't want her to wake up to Hoyt, in his arms. She wouldn't let that happen.

"Or what, Jane?"

Bargaining. Jane struggled. She thought of all those times when she interrogated suspects. She thought of all those times they couldn't come up with an answer. In that moment, she couldn't come up with an answer.

She was useless. She had nothing. Nothing to offer the monster in front of her.

"I'll fucking kill you," she said.

"You'll kill me? You never killed me before. You _always_ left me alive. Isn't that right, Jane?"

"Shut up," Jane's voice was still flat, quiet. "Get… your filthy hands off of her. She isn't part of this. This is between you and me. Not her. You can do… whatever you want to me. Just let her go. This isn't about her."

"Jane, Jane, Jane…" scolded Hoyt, in his sing song voice, his hand still stroking Maura's hair. "I don't think you really understand yet. This _is _between you and me… Jane…" He licked his lips. "So it's also about her. What is it… My modus operandi. All those times… I came after you. I deviated. I strayed from the plan. But I didn't really. They were _connected _Jane. It isn't all different! It's one big scheme! And this! This is the end! The last scene!"

Hoyt moved closer to Jane, leaving Maura lying on the cold concrete. She could smell his breath. Rancid. Like rotting fruit.

"She and I," he said, "we… are so alike…"

"Don't you talk about her. Don't you _ever_ speak a _word _about her."

"We're both… intellectuals," he continued. "We're different. Alienated from society. Shunned because of the things we do. _Shunned _for our profession. Emotionally distant… Socially awkward… The two of us… _think _alike. How fitting is it, Jane, that you find someone like _her_, someone who is so much like _me_?"

"She is nothing like you."

"But you're wrong, Jane. So, so wrong…"

"Let me tell you something, Hoyt. She. Is. Nothing. Like. You. She has something you will never have. You are a monster, Hoyt. She isn't."

"I'm flattered that you hold me in such high esteem, Jane. But you're stubborn. As always. And I suppose this argument is a lost cause. I've been looking forward to this, detective. For a while, now. Oh I've imagined this moment so many times… So many nights…"

Hoyt returned to stroking Maura.

"Yes… It's time now," he said. "It's time."

Depression. Pain. Helplessness.

"No!" Jane's voice was frantic. Tears were falling down her face. "No…"

But Hoyt had already gotten up behind Jane. He had already taken the rag and had already begun to wrap the cloth around Jane's head, covering her mouth, muffling her words, her yells, her screams. He had done it so many times, to so many different men. He had taught his first apprentice how… That promising young soldier. And he had taught his new steed, too… The police officer.

And now he was doing it to Jane. Detective Jane Rizzoli.

"Rizzoli," he said, tasting the name on his tongue.

He brought his mouth closer to Jane's ear, whispering as his finger ran around the lip of the ceramic material on Jane's lap; "I chose this one. Just for you, Jane. This is all for you."

Maura was beginning to wake up. Relief touched Jane briefly when she realized that comprehension of the situation in all its horrors and entirety had not even begun to settle into her mind. Hell, it hadn't even touched her yet. Hoyt must've given her something. A pill. A thing. A _some_thing. Maura wasn't herself.

"Jane!" she murmured, in quiet surprise. "You're… I must be hallucinating. You can't be alive. We buried you. I saw…" A tear fell from the doctor's eye.

"Maura," Jane tried to say, through the rag.

It only reached the air in the form of a muffled yearning.

The comprehension – the realization – it still had not arrived in Maura's mind. Even as Hoyt began to approach her. Even as Hoyt began to lay his goddamn fingers on her dress. Even as he began to graze her thigh. Maura's mind was lost. In a haze. Unaware.

She was still in shock that it was Jane she was looking at. Alive. Unwell. But alive. _A hallucination_, she thought.

And then she felt it. She felt him. She felt his fingers against her skin. Fear replaced confusion and the expression spread across her face like a wildfire. Jane yelled into the rag and didn't stop. She felt her voice grow hoarser and hoarser. The tea cup rattled in her lap.

Hoyt had brought himself and Maura within arm's reach of Jane.

"She's scared, Jane. Like a lost puppy. Afraid. Look at her little face, detective. Can you see it? It's amazing, isn't it? Fear?"

He reached up and grabbed the gag, pulling it down.

"Let go of her," she screamed, as soon as she could. "Let go over and get away! Don't touch her! Don't come near her! Let go! Stop!"

"Shut up!" he roared. His voice calmed again. Just as suddenly. "Tell her, Jane. Tell her that it's going to be alright. Tell her that everything's going to be okay…"

"No," she said, the tears shaking her voice.

She was shaking. Trembling. The tears didn't stop streaking down her face.

"No," she said again, shaking her head. "No."

"Tell her!" The roar was back in his voice. "Do as I say!"

Jane flinched and reeled back. She hadn't stopped trembling. She found Maura's eyes with her own.

"Maura?" she said. Her voice had never shaken so much. "M-Maura? Look at me, okay? E-everything's… E-everything's going t-to be… g-going to be a-alright, okay? I-it's going t-to be f-fine…"

She looked up at Hoyt, begging with her eyes for him to let her stop. The look in Maura's eyes… The trust… It killed her.

"Keep going," he said.

"J-Jane?" whispered Maura. The doctor seemed to reach for her with her voice.

"Don't… D-don't worry, okay? N-nothing's g-gonna hurt y-you… I w-won't let him h-hurt you, okay? D-do y-you understand th-that, Maura? I-I won't l-let anything h-happen to y-you…"

Maura nodded, visibly calming. Killing Jane.

"Promise," he said.

"W-what?"

"Promise her."

"N-no…" Jane was shaking her head again. "No… I won't…"

"Do it!" he roared.

"I-I… I-I… I p-promise, okay? O-okay, Maura? I p-promise…"

Maura nodded again.

"Okay," she said. Weakly. Quietly.

"Very good, Jane. Very, very good. You did well."

He pushed the rag back into her mouth as she yelled, yelled for him to stop. To leave Maura alone. To make it all end. To make it all stop. She screamed into the rag. Yelled. She screamed Maura's name nothing understandable left the rag.

Hoyt's hand had begun to move up Maura's body, thighs to hips, hips to stomach, stomach to arms, arms to shoulders. His fingers found the straps of Maura's dress, and Jane was screaming again. Maura was confused. The off-white tea cup rattled.

And there it was.

Hoyt stopped moving. Jane stopped yelling. The tea cup stopped rattling.

The ring resounded through the room a second time. And then a third.

"No!" yelled Hoyt. "No! Not now! No!"

He answered the phone. Breathless. Frustrated.

"What is it?... They're _what_?... Well get it ready, then. Like we planned… Good."

There was a small beep as Hoyt hung the phone. He threw it. Jane flinched when it hit the wall, the hard plastic shell splitting and sounding with a sharp crack. She felt her body almost melt with relief. Hoyt was up. Away from Maura.

He slapped Jane, the force slipping the rag out of her mouth.

"No! This… No!"

"You're… plans… Something went wrong, didn't it?"

"Shut up!"

"They… came looking for Maura, didn't they? They noticed she was missing. You didn't expect that they'd notice, did you? She… isn't like you, Hoyt. She's… so different."

"I told you to shut up!"

Hoyt slapped her again and blood trickled down from her split lip. He untied her. Worked through all the knots. He pulled her out of the chair and held her out in front of her. She was bigger than Hoyt… She would hide him. She would cover him. He took the gun from Jane's holster, it had been there all along.

And he dragged her away, the gun pointed to her head. She tried to pull away. She tried to struggle. But she didn't even know how long it'd been, that'd she'd been there. Captive. With minimal food and water. Watching Maura on that screen… And then finding her in the room with her. Her worst fear. Her nightmare replayed in reality. She couldn't escape his hold.

Maura, in all the confusion, felt the haze lift from her eyes. She felt the fog lift from her head. And she saw her. Jane. Bruised. Cut. Beaten. Carried away. Hoyt's hostage. Gunpoint.

"Jane!"

The detective jerked her head towards the doctor. The eyes that had been so tired, so afraid, so devastated… they looked at her now. Calm. Collected. Strong.

"It's gonna be okay, alright? Everything's gonna be okay."

And this time, there wasn't a single break in Jane's voice.

Hoyt pulled her away, out of view.

* * *

><p>Frost had his weapon out, his tactical vest over his button-down shirt. He demanded that he be put on the mission. He demanded that he not be left out. He didn't want to be on the sidelines anymore. Cavanaugh had given him the okay, partnering him up with Korsak.<p>

It was best to keep everything as normal as possible.

Everyone was waiting. Unsure as to how they should proceed. The information they had was minimal. But they managed to, by some sort of miracle, to track Maura's trail to the empty, abandoned warehouse.

The door opened.

"Don't shoot!" said a voice. "I've got a hostage."

Korsak almost leapt forward in anger when he heard the familiar voice. Hoyt.

And then he stepped out.

Every police officer in the area lowered their guns. Shock painted itself across their faces.

"Jane," whispered Frost. "How…?"

"We'll deal with how later," ordered Korsak, to both Frost and every other officer. "Let's just focus on getting this done right!"

They looked for a shot. They all did. But Jane's body covered Hoyt's.

"Shoot him!" she yelled, causing everyone to visibly jump from their skin. Her husky voice was unmistakable. "Just shoot him! Maura's in there! Shoot him!"

None of them could find the shot.

"You see, Jane? I _did _think this part of the plan out. Do you really think I was going to let myself _fail _after all that waiting? After all that preparation? Do you really think I was going to let that happen?"

He pulled her across the scene.

"Let me _tell _you, Jane. I accounted for _everything_. Do you know what's around that corner? A car, detective. And they, they are not going to shoot us, because they're precious _detective _will be jeopardized… Do you know why I chose that police officer to help me?" He hardly gave a chance for Jane to answer. Not that she was going to. "Bomb squad, Jane."

She understood.

"Just shoot him! It doesn't matter! I don't matter! Just shoot!" When none of the officers moved, she tried again. "He's got a bomb somewhere! He'll set it off! Just shoot him!"

Korsak felt his mind run through the possibilities. The courses of action. He couldn't think of a single one that he liked.

"Do you want to know where one of those bombs are, Jane?" Hoyt leaned in closer to her ear. "This very warehouse, Jane. It's my gift to Maura."

"Did you account for this?"

Adrenaline pumped through Jane's system, and the whole world slowed, as if they were suspended in space, or trying to cut through a thickening layer of molasses. Frost and Korsak began to drop their guns. Maura had managed to stumble her way towards Jane.

"Jane!" she yelled, crying out.

And Jane… Jane pulled the gun down to her abdomen, calmly closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.


	14. Streetlights

**I don't own anything. I'll take this time to say that all the medical mumbo jumbo shit in there is mostly from Wikipedia. I'm just about as clueless as Jane. Don't understand a damn word of it.**

**And I know I've said this twice before, but this song is also worth listening to with the chapter. It's part of the story, really. It adds to some of what Jane is thinking.**

* * *

><p><strong>Streetlights - Ludo<strong>

**"Thermodynamic miracles... Events with odds against so astronomical they're effectively impossible, like oxygen spontaneously becoming gold... And yet, in each human coupling, a thousand million sperm vie for a single egg. Multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son; that exact daughter... until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of a thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you that ermgerd. To distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbablity, like turning air to gold... that is the crowning unlikelihood. The thermodynamic miracle." - Doctor Manhattan from Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons' Watchmen**

* * *

><p>Jane Rizzoli woke to the smell of disinfectant. The smell of hospital. And then she gagged.<p>

_Holy shit. No way. Shit._ She lifted her hands up to the tube hanging out of her throat, padding at it with her fingers. She relaxed when she saw a nurse reach in and pull it out further. She coughed violently until they put the oxygen over her nose and mouth.

"Can you speak for us, detective?" said the nurse.

She nodded before removing the mask herself; "That tasted, really, really bad."

She put it back on and breathed. Relieved as the oxygen filled her lungs. She breathed out and breathed in again before frowning. She pulled off the mask again, and looked up at the nurse taking her vitals.

"Maura," she breathed, a little hoarse for having a damn tube stuffed down her throat. "Is she? Where? Is she okay?"

"You mean, Doctor Isles? She's outside. We had to get her out of here when you woke up."

"Can… you…" Jane found herself coughing and wheezing for air, all the while relieved by the news. She took a couple breaths from the mask before speaking again. "Can you bring her in?" The next words left Jane's mouth shyly. "…I kinda wanna see her."

The nurse smiled before nodding and leaving. She was done taking vitals anyway, and the doctor had looked anxious enough when they had ushered her out without letting her say a word.

Jane Rizzoli found herself relaxing. Maura. Safe. There was nothing more to worry about. She always imagined that, if something like this were to happen, she'd wake up terrified. Upset. Angry. Or at least with a knot growing real big in her intestines or something.

But there was none of that. Not anymore.

And the pain in her chest… It wasn't a pain anymore. Jane couldn't call it that anymore. It was a pain when she wanted it gone. When she hated it. When she spent every waking moment spiting it. But now… She could feel the muscles in her chest embrace it and hold it and take it in as one of its own. As if it were another organ, beating just as furiously as her heart to keep Jane alive, and that for so many years of her life it had been missing and that she had been born with it, but as they brought her out into the world of the living, it had left. But in that moment. In the hospital. With Jane in the hospital bed, and Maura only steps away.

It came home.

"How is she?" Maura asked, as the nurse walked out the door. "How are her vitals? Are they stable? Let me see them…"

"You can see them later, Doctor Isles," smirked the nurse, pulling the clipboard away. "I need to take these to Jane's doctor. She, on the other hand, would like to see you."

Maura hesitated, bringing her questions to a furious stop. The nurse walked away chuckling and shaking her head. She had watched Maura sit by that bed for days. She even started putting in an extra set of food for the vigilant doctor.

Even when the nurse had walked out of view, Maura hadn't made a move. She slowly and tentatively walked into the room and was thankful that Jane had her head turned away from her; she was staring out at the window.

When Maura took her place on the chair, she didn't speak. She only sat.

"Hi," whispered Jane, huskily, turning her head to face Maura. She had taken the mask off of her face.

Maura still didn't let the words leave her mouth. But the tears, the tears started to touch the corner of her eyes.

"Honey," she said, causing Maura to finally make eye contact. Jane looked down and pointed at her abdomen, giving a small smile. "I forgot to duck."

Maura hadn't smiled in so long, but now, here, for a moment it became easy; "President Ronald Reagan," she whispered in response. "When he was almost assassinated."

"Bingo," said Jane.

She was tired. A good tired. The kind of tired that hit you after a work out. After the end of damn hard case. _She's safe_, Jane thought. _She's safe, and I love her. _Every part of her wanted to push the strands of Maura's hair out of her face and to bring her closer into a tight embrace.

She put her hand on Maura's instead. "How are you?"

_Maura stands in front of the brownstone building, where she had, only minutes before, identified Jane's bones. The sirens and flashing lights pulsate in the corner of her eyes and she can't breathe… Jane is gone. She repeats it to herself like a mantra. Jane is gone… She's dead. She's left._

_It's too late._

_She's gone._

_She needed you._

_But now she's gone._

_You let her leave._

_And now she's gone._

_You could have stopped her._

_She's still gone._

_It's your fault._

_She's gone because of you._

_She looks to her left to see Cavanaugh calling her. Frankie looks awful, but he's holding back the tears now. And the vomit. Frost is trying to look calm. Cool. Collected. But Maura can read the little twitches in his facial muscles, the ones that few people can recognize. He's devastated._

"I'm… I'm fine."

"Yeah. Tell that to your face."

"You're the one who got shot, Jane. Remember?"

"Oh yeah. I remember." She pointed down at the wound again and winced a little. "Ow."

Maura grasped Jane's hand; "You're alive," she whispers. The concept hits her like a brick. "You're not dead."

"Yaaay…" mock cheered Jane. But her face fell when she remembered the television. The scenes. Her faked death. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," she whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

But Maura dropped the topic, conversationally anyway, her mind distracted by the memory of her first question.

"How much do you remember?"

Maura prayed, begging, hoping to hear a certain answer.

"A lot," Jane said, hoarsely. "I remember… everything. Everything that happened before it… That part's fuzzy. I only remember bits and pieces." She looks up and smiles at Maura, trying to lighten the mood. "I remember being really, really drunk?"

"You don't remember what happened… the night before you… the night you…"

"Maura… Hey, look at me. Maura? Yeah. There you go. It's okay. Everything ended up working out. It's okay, Maura. It's okay."

"Do you? Remember?"

Jane shook her head at Maura, smiling a little when Maura believes her. She couldn't bring herself to say it, to say no. She couldn't bring herself to lie to the fragile woman sitting next to her.

She remembers.

_Jane lets herself fall at the door when no one answers, when Maura doesn't come to her. Her fist hasn't moved from where it knocked and her forehead is pressed up against the door, propping her up. Her breathing is labored against the wood, her voice unfiltered of emotion._

"_Please, Maura… Please, I need you."_

_And then in a blur, in a series of images she can recognize only if she focuses enough, she finds herself in her own apartment. She's lying on the bed, cold. Maura's on the other side, sitting up. Sitting away._

"_Jane?" she says, her voice shaking, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I… What is… I can't… I just… I can't, Jane. Oh, Jane… This… Us… I can't do this."_

_Jane pushes herself away from where she was been lying. She lets her feet touch the floor, her back is now turned to Maura. She hasn't cried in a long time. She never allowed herself the pleasure. But now, when she wants them the least, they begin to touch her eyes._

"_No," she says. "You're right. You can't do this. You shouldn't do this… I'm not… I'm not good enough. I never was."_

"_Jane… That's…"_

"_No. I'm a cop and I'm not safe to be around. I'm hot tempered. I'm stubborn. I'm dumb. Hell…" The unshed tears began to touch Jane's voice. "Hell, I'm just a dumb cop, and there isn't no use fighting for me."_

_Jane makes some stupid promise and leaves. She can feel Maura shake behind her, but makes herself keep walking into the night._

"Uh, Maura?"

"Yes?"

"Is… Where's my ma and pop? Frankie?"

Maura absentmindedly stroked Jane's arm, running her fingers up and down the skin, glad that Jane had changed the subject. The detective shivered at the contact. She thought about putting the oxygen mask back on to make breathing easier.

"Lieutenant Cavanaugh is keeping Frankie at the front desk. I think he's a little afraid Frankie might do something unintelligent. Your father had to take a job about half an hour out and should be back soon, and I imagine your mother is kicking herself right now for choosing last night of all nights to go home and tidy up a little."

"Oh god, she's probably on her way here now, isn't she?"

Maura nodded.

"Ugh…" She looks up at Maura. "Can I go back into the coma? I'll skip out on that damn tube this time, but the coma sounds real nice right about now."

"Jane. I'm not authorized to do such a procedure. I hope you know that."

"Of course, I do." Jane smiles and takes Maura's hand, bringing it closer. "I just… I kinda wanna spend a little more time with you. Without ma running around rearranging the room or something." She looks up at Maura's face and frowns. "Oh no. She's already don't that, hasn't she? How many times, Maura?"

"Well… I…"

"How many times?"

"I'd say… twelve?" The number left Maura's throat in a squeak.

"Twelve? Oh, ma…"

Maura does her best to try and get the image of a broken down Angela Rizzoli out of her head.

_Frankie's voice wis hoarse._

_Ma. Janie… She's…_

_Frost puts a hand on Frankie's shoulder. But his voice is hoarse too. Quiet. Soft._

_I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am._

_Maura watches as Angela collapses into Frankie's arms, desperately sobbing. Angela guessed. Angela knew. She heard about the dead cop – the dead detective – on the police radio that she had secretly swiped, unbeknownst to her children. And when she saw the two of them walk out of the car… But she had hoped, with all her heart, that they were only coming to tell her that her little Janie, her little baby girl, was alive and fine._

"Jane!"

The detective flinches as the woman runs into the room.

"Oh, Jane!"

"Uh… Hi, ma. Morning to you, too."

"You're awake." The older woman brings her daughter into a tight embrace, before quickly letting go, another emotion already washing over her face. "How could you do that, Janie?"

"Do what?"

"Lying in that coma there like that when we all needed you awake."

"Ma. It was a coma. I don't think there was much I could've done."

"Carla Tallucci told me that she read somewhere about people being able to _control _when they wake up from a coma. Took you long enough, didn't it?"

"I don't care what Carla Tallucci told you, ma." She turned to the doctor who had stepped away, glad that an amused expression had taken over the pained one. "Maura," she whined. "Tell her."

"Well, there have been studies when patients who don't want to come out of comas don't do so for a long time, whereas there have been other patients known to come out of comas exceptionally early…"

"Maura," she said, again, with gritted teeth.

"Oh! But yes. In Jane's case, I'm positive that there was nothing that Jane could've done…"

She left out the words that ate at her, from the inside out: _She lost a lot of blood. The coma was a miracle._

Angela Rizzoli started off on another tirade, and Jane let her. Everyone had their own way of coping. She had been dead. And as soon as people found out she was alive, she shoots herself. Best scenario ever. She let her eyes turn towards Maura. The doctor hadn't truly looked at her at all. She hadn't made eye contact, even when Jane tried. Whenever their faces met, Maura always chose to avert her gaze or have her eyes glaze over.

_She has her own way of coping too_, Jane thought, attempting to reason with the pit growing heavy in her stomach. _The funeral… Hoyt… And now… this. Hell, if she were all fine and dandy _now _of all times, I'd be worried. Yeah. That'd be worse._

"Are you listening to me, Janie?"

"What?"

"Did you even hear a _word _I said?"

"Sure?"

Maura let a small, miniscule smile touch her face. It had been a while. She had missed this. The lightness. The humor. It made things… much more bearable. No. It didn't make it go away. It made it bearable. Easier to live with. Easier to breathe with.

_She hears the gunshot pull her even further out of her haze._

_Hoyt._

_Jane._

_Hostage._

_Gun._

_Adrenaline._

_She feels the adrenaline shoot through her, flooding her head. Adrenaline. Epinephrine. Nine carbons. Thirteen hydrogen's. One nitrate. A hormone and a neurotransmitter. Increases heart rate. Constricts blood vessels. Dilates air passages. A monoamine secreted by the adrenal glands from phenylalanine and tyrosine. Derived from the Latin roots _epi _and _nephros_. Loosely translates to "on the kidney."_

_She hasn't noticed it, but she's holding Jane now. The detective looks up at her in a moment of consciousness, and she catches the flash of relief in her eyes. She feels fear run through her as Jane's gaze grows weaker. She knows what it all meant: _You're alright now. I don't need to worry. I'm tired and I want to sleep. But it's okay because you're alright now. _Jane coughs up blood and sprays over Maura's dress._

_But it's black and the blood is hard to see against it._

"_No, Jane," she cries, holding her. "Not again… I just… I just… please don't die again. Please don't leave me again. Stay with me… Please stay with me…"_

_Frost is ushering the EMTs they had brought with them to the fallen figures. Korsak is with her now, and he's got his hands on Jane's exit wound, attempting to stop the bleeding on that front. The blood seeps around Maura's hand as she tries for the entry wound._

_Ballistic trauma. High extent of cavitations. Kinetic energy. Yaw. Deformation. Fragmentation. Extreme loss of blood. Exsanguination. Hypovolemic shock. Stage 1 and 2 passed quickly. Stage 3. Decreased systolic pressure. Sweating. Cool, pale skin. Delayed capillary refill. Stage 4 is hitting. Need EMT. Extreme tachycardia. Pronounced tachypnea. Significantly decreased systoblic blood pressure. Skin is moribund. Capillary refill: absent._

_An EMT places his hands over Maura's, but she won't take her hands off of Jane's body. She can feel her tears mixing with Jane's blood. Another EMT is applying a tourniquet. A tourniquet will be more efficient. Will stop the blood flow faster. Will keep the blood in Jane's body._

_A third and fourth EMT is giving Jane emergency oxygen and intravenous fluids respectively._

_They're lifting her onto a stretcher. They've stopped the blood loss._

"_No heartbeat!"_

"_Clear!"_

_Jane's body jerks up. Maura flinches, and she's suddenly painfully aware that she doesn't know what to do with her blood stained hands that now hang to her side. She can't do it. She can't bury Jane again. She can't put her back into the ground._

"_Try again! Try again!"_

"_Clear!"_

"_We have a heartbeat!"_

_Maura feels a sliver of tension leave her body. Restored hope. Jane's condition is still unstable. She's hanging on a thin, thin thread. She watches the ambulance drive away with Jane's body, the lights flashing and the sirens blaring. They have minutes to reach the hospital._

_She feels a jacket drape across her shoulders. Frost's jacket. She still feels cold._

_The adrenaline has left her body and she's in a haze again. In a fog. She sees Jane's gun on the ground. The one that Hoyt had taken. The one that Jane had so recently used. She picks it up and someone tries to stop her, but when she keeps the barrel pointed at the motionless body on the ground, no one tries to stop her anymore._

_She holds the gun like Jane taught her and empties the clip._

Maura had been sitting in the corner of the room for a while. Angela had left. Presumably to yell at a nurse to bring her detective daughter something to eat and drink. A lot to eat and drink.

And Jane had been staring at her, with somber eyes, pained at the flashes of emotion that were running across the doctor's face.

"Maura," she said, huskily, when she sees that Maura had snapped out of the daze. "Maura."

The doctor didn't move, not when Jane called her name. She could feel the fear beginning to grip her, hold her throat and tighten. She felt it on her shoulders. Her skin. She couldn't shake the fear away from herself.

"Can you… come here?" Jane whispered.

She motioned to the seat that Maura had previously occupied. Maura nodded and found herself walking, the fear still gripping her. She turned her eyes away, afraid to catch a glimpse of the detective's beaten skin, or the expression glowing in her eyes.

"Maura," she said, when the woman sat down. Jane had taken Maura's hands in hers. "Can you look at me?" A sigh. "It's okay. I understand… I get it. I really do. It's just… I really need to talk to you, Maura. I need to talk to you so bad it hurts."

She winced when she saw the fear flash again across Maura's face.

"Never mind," she added, deciding to drop the topic.

Too soon. Maybe another time. Jane can wait. For as long as she needs to. She can wait.

Jane runs her gaze over Maura's turned face, around every contour of skin. She smiles as she feels the warmth – the warmth, not paint – flood through her chest, washing over her heart and lungs. Like a damn good glass of bourbon.

"I'll never leave you," she whispers. "You're beautiful."

Jane accepted the look of fear spreading again across Maura's features. Her own expression didn't falter, even as Maura backed away, mumbling some sort of excuse about needing to be back at the headquarters. Even as Maura turned around, finding herself doing what even what she, the doctor, thought impossible: leaving Jane alone in the hospital bed.

"You're beautiful," Jane whispers again. "And I'm not going anywhere."


	15. Swim

**I still don't own anything.**

**Swim - Jack's Mannequin**

**"I am afraid of a thousand things, a million. Like is it possible to be claustrophobic and yet fear open spaces, too?" - Adam from Robert Cormier's I Am the Cheese**

* * *

><p>Jane slowly lifted herself up, wobbling before finally grabbing the railing she installed into her wall. Despite becoming a cop, she <em>had <em>learned something from her father being a plumber. DIY's were on the top of the list.

She clutched the rail with both hands, her hips facing down the hallway in her apartment.

She moved her left foot first. Forward.

She had put most of her weight on her hands, but she had taken a step. She moved her right foot next, slightly loosening the grip she had on the rail, allowing more weight to shift to her weakened legs. She moved her left foot again, slightly loosening her grip a second time.

And then she hit the floor. Again.

"Damn it," she muttered, angrily. "Son of a…"

She tried making herself feel better by focusing on the fact that she had taken three rather sizeable steps, which was, in fact, an improvement. She tried reaching for the railing and swore again when she realized it was too far. She swore a third time when realizing that her wheel chair was just out of arm's reach too. That, and her legs had decided that they had had enough.

She flipped her body over and started for what would be a short low arm crawl back to her wheel chair.

God she hated that thing.

Her forearms just about reached the damned thing when the knock on the door interrupted her task.

"It's Korsak," the man bellowed. "Would you let me in or something? It's damn chilly out there."

Jane looked down at herself before yelling back; "Just use the key I gave you, alright? I'm a little busy right now!"

"Fine, fine! It takes five seconds to open a door, Jane. You do know that right?" The keyhole turned as Korsak clicked his keys in. "I mean, it isn't that hard… Jesus Christ, Jane! What the hell?"

Jane looked up at the older detective, who was now standing above her. She silently swore – again. She had thought that she could've gotten back into the wheelchair before he walked in. Her elbows were resting on the seat of the chair. So, she flashed a cocky smile instead.

"What?" she asked, as if nothing were wrong.

"What the hell are you doing? The place is a damn mess, you haven't been out _once _since you left the hospital, and now you're lying here on the floor."

"I was trying to walk," Jane said, nonchalantly. "Jesus, you sound like ma right now."

"Jane, I am not old enough to be your mothe… Wait. Hold that thought."

The younger detective smirked at her old partner.

"Yeah, I thought so," she said. She had gotten back in her wheelchair, only to have her head jerked back in surprise as she did a double take of Korsak. She chose to speak her next few words slowly. And carefully. "Uh, why do you got your blues on, Korsak?"

"Jane!"

"What?" she whined.

"It's your own damn awards ceremony, that's what it is."

"Oh fuck. That's tonight, isn't it?"

"It sure as hell is. And don't you dare about backing out, Rizzoli. I wrote you a whole damn speech and everything."

"You'll… make sure I'm on desk duty for the next year if I don't go, won't you?"

Korsak nodded.

"And… you'll make sure I'll be bringing you the coffee and donuts from that place five blocks from the precinct, won't you?"

Korsak nodded again.

"I don't want to go."

"I wrote a speech, Jane. You know… I wonder how bad desk duty would be… For a whole year…"

"Jesus Christ, Korsak! Fine. I'll go. Or something."

"You know, Maura'll be there too."

He smirked when he saw Jane's eyes light up, as much as she tried to hide it. Hell, the poor girl couldn't help it.

"Naw. She wouldn't go," she whispered. "She's still pissed at me. And I don't blame her."

"You're as dumb as a rock, Rizzoli. You go ahead and think what you want. But I'd bet my entire year's salary on Doctor Isles being there at the ceremony. You didn't see her when you were in that hospital. She isn't as good as coping, you know?"

"How… how is she? Do you know? You've seen her at the precinct, right?"

"Course I have. You really think I'd be that bad of a homicide sergeant? Not see the damn chief M.E.?"

"How is she, Korsak?" she whispered again.

"She hasn't been by yet, has she?"

"No. And I already said. I don't blame her. The whole thing's been one big clusterfuck. I'm gonna be patient."

"Jane Rizzoli, patient? Well I'll be damned. I think I lost a bet somewhere. By the way. You got any chocolate in here? I'm starved. Your _partner _has been stealing my muffins for a week."

"Get of his back," laughed Jane. "But you keep dodging my question. How is she? I'm not giving up 'till you tell me."

"Like hell, Jane. What'd you expect? That she'd be all sunshine and flowers?"

"Is she seeing a therapist?"

"Of course, she is. Cavanaugh was gonna have her go see the department shrink, but she ended up finding her own fancy pants shrink to go see. She's probably overpaying the damn guy, but what the hell."

"I prayed, you know? That Maura wouldn't have to go through this kinda thing. With Hoyt. But now…"

"Hey, listen to me, Rizzoli. She'll be fine. She has you."

Jane felt the laugh leave her throat, until she saw Korsak's stern gaze. She coughed it back down.

"You never told me, Korsak. How'd he get out?"

"How'd who get out?" he said, deliberately avoiding the topic.

"You know damn well who I'm talking about."

"I don't know, Jane," he sighed. "He was the first guy we checked for when you… when you showed up dead." Jane winced. "We call the prison and we get word that he's in the hospital, so we go in and check. We see this guy there lying in an orange jumpsuit with his face all bandaged up real good. Turned out he had his face burned real bad. Some officer there told us the guy was definitely Hoyt. He had papers to prove it and everything."

"Hoyt had a badge working for him."

"I know. We know. We're guessing he had a couple others on his side too. He was a fucking hero in prison, Jane. People either worshipped him or were too scared out of their minds to say a word otherwise. We're investigating the whole thing now. The prison, the hospital, everything. Hell, we even got IA looking through every desk back at headquarters."

"This guy… This guy Hoyt had working for him. He was one of us… He was at my damn crime scene, for Christ's sake!"

"I don't know, Jane… I really don't. I don't know how any of this happened. Part of me doesn't want to find out."

"I don't give a rat's ass anymore. Don't feel a damn thing. I haven't since I woke up."

The two were silent. Korsak had a pastry in his hand that he had somehow, and some point in time, pilfered from Jane's kitchen. He took a bite out of it and quickly wiped the getaway crumbs off of us uniform, struggling a little as his cover began to slip from underneath his arm.

"Well, I gotta go now. I've gotta get down to the ceremony early. Duty calls. Frankie'll be by later to pick you up."

"I don't need an escort."

"You took a couple steps in your own hallway and got yourself stuck on the floor. Frankie'll come by."

"Damn it, Korsak…"

"Take care of yourself, kid. Try not to break anything yet. I worked damn hard on that speech, so you're gonna hear the whole thing, you hear?"

The larger man let himself out.

"Hey, Korsak?"

"Yeah?"

"When you see Maura again… You make sure she does alright, okay? Make sure she's eating right and everything. Hell make sure that she's eating at all. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah, kiddo. I can do that."

The door clicked shut and Jane looked back at the railing.

_Alright_, she thought. _I've got some time before Frankie gets here. Let's go for four._

* * *

><p>The black dress hung on the bedroom door. This was the dress. This was the dress she buried Jane in. This was the dress she had worn when Hoyt's apprentice grabbed her. This was the dress she had watched Jane bleed out in.<p>

The whole experience was surreal.

So the dress hung at the door. The dress was the only physical reminder she had, and she clutched it, unable to truly believe the chain of events that had occurred. And she still hadn't brought herself to look at Jane, to go to her and look into her eyes, to have the detective's eyes captivate her as they had so many times before. She simply could not bring herself to understand.

Her nightmares hadn't been the same every night, but they never went away. Her therapist had declared it to be fairly commonplace, considering the events. Sometimes, they were of Hoyt, an exact transcription of what had actually happened, only Maura would be more aware. Awake. Sometimes, Jane and Maura had their roles reversed. Sometimes, Jane would shoot herself, and when the EMTs brought the paddles to her chest, she would jerk up, but her heartbeat would fail to return. And other times, other times Hoyt was never a part of it. Maura would bury Jane, and that would be it. Jane would be dead.

She had learned it would be better not to sleep at all.

She sighed and looked for another dress. It was brighter. More colorful. She would wear this to the ceremony. It would belie happiness. The last thing she wanted was for any of the others to be worried. Including Jane.

At the thought of the other detective, Maura looked over at her bed. The sheets caved in a little with the rather heavy weight.

Maura picked up the book and stroked its well worn cover and slowly rippled her fingers to the equally well worn pages. She remembered finding it, the night she had used her key to get into Jane's apartment. It had been two days since they had found out that Jane was dead, and it had taken hours for Maura to build up the courage to use her key and walk in.

The emptiness of the room had almost caused Maura to run out of the room in a panic. It had eaten at her, digging its way beneath her skin. When she had finally gotten used to being back in the space, she had cried. Sobbed.

She had buried her face in one of Jane's shirts and had eventually managed to rock herself to sleep, the smell of Jane permeating through the soft, soft fabric. When she woke, she didn't allow herself to let go of it and had proceeded to wander aimlessly through Jane's apartment with the shirt hugged to her chest.

And then she had found it, wrapped in silver wrapping paper and tied together with a simple brown string. The throes of crumpled wrapping paper around the desk indicated to Maura just how many times the detective had attempted to wrap the gift, only to be unsatisfied with the job. She hadn't dared move a single object except for the shirt she held and the gift on the desk. She had even taken special care to make sure that the tossed paper stayed in place.

There was a little note tucked beneath the string, written clearly in Jane's rather messy handwriting. Maura had choked back a sob.

"To Maura," it read. "Happy Birthday."

She hadn't thought about it. Not for a while. In that moment, she did, and the memory came crashing down on her quickly and suddenly. She had sworn she could see Jane, back in the bullpen, the balloons clinging to the ceiling, reassuring her that she had the _real _present sitting in her apartment and that she would give Maura the present later. Without the prying eyes of all the others.

Trying desperately to keep the tears at bay, Maura had sat on the floor, Jane's shirt in her lap. Maura had tried to make the moment as special as possible, managing to keep herself composed enough to pour herself a glass of wine and to take the neck of a bottle of beer. The glass of wine had stood next to her, and the bottle of beer had stood across from her, where Jane would have sat.

Slowly, Maura had unwrapped the paper, careful not to tear it. She hated tearing wrapping paper, and she had hated the idea of tearing _Jane's_ wrapping paper even more.

She had glanced, confused, over at the nonexistent Jane across from her. Lying in a bed of wrapping paper was an encyclopedia, and it was clearly an encyclopedia that had been used over and over again. Just as slowly as she had unwrapped it, she lifted the leather bound cover. She had found a note, again written in Jane's haphazard writing.

"I know I always tease you," it read, "about that damn Google-mouth of yours but… I want you to have this. I know I've been kind of a jerk lately, so I just wanted some way to tell you that there's nothing about you I don't love. Jane."

The last word, "love," was written carefully, more carefully than the rest, as if the detective had taken hours to write those four letters. Maura had used the tips of her fingers to begin flipping through the pages of the encyclopedia, surprised to find that portions of it were highlighted and that there were all sorts of little notes in the margins.

The tears had fallen freely from her face as she let herself read through the notes. Her near photographic memory had allowed her to recognize the highlighted entries of the encyclopedia to have been phrases and concepts she had used in the past; they had been things she had said in passing to Jane.

And there they all were.

Jane had listened.

Maura hadn't stopped crying for the rest of that night.

And though she was sitting back in her own apartment, and though she knew that Jane Rizzoli was alive and well, she felt the tears stream back down her face, drip of her chin and land in her lap. She knew every note that Jane had made by heart.

Instead of reading, like she had done so many times before, Maura ran her fingers against Jane's careful notes, feeling the indentations the detective's pen had made.

After looking at the clock, Maura stood in front of the mirror and pulled herself together. She put on the blue dress and a matching pair of shoes, left out the door, and felt something she could only describe as fear as she drove to the ceremony where Jane would be awarded. Awarded for shooting herself. Awarded for shooting herself and nearly killing herself so that she might have to be buried yet _again_, only so that she, Maura, could live.

And so, with that in mind, she felt fear.

* * *

><p><strong>Just thought some of you might want to know that DADT certification has been signed, which means that in about 58 days (September 20th), repeal will take place. The fight's coming to an end.<strong>


	16. Relative Ways

**I don't own anything.**

**Relative Ways - And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of The Dead**

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><p><strong>"VLADIMIR - He didn't say for sure he'd come.<strong>

**ESTRAGON - And if he doesn't come?**

**VLADIMIR - We'll come back tomorrow.**

**ESTRAGON - And then the day after tomorrow.**

**VLADIMIR - Possibly."**

**- Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot**

* * *

><p>"I didn't really… prepare anything special for this," Jane said, into the microphone. The volume of her voice surprised her, and she struggled to stay on her feet. The wheelchair sat behind her. "I guess… I guess I thought there wasn't really much to say. We're just doing our jobs, you know. Everyone who goes out there in uniform. That's, uh, really all there is to it."<p>

Jane backed off a little, hoping that the room would be satisfied with the short speech. She felt something burn in her stomach and quickly pulled herself back towards the podium and microphone. She leaned in again, scrolling the room with her eyes, searching. For Maura.

"Wait, no. That's not everything. The thing is… Someone told me… once… For all of us who go out there… It's our jobs. Charles Hoyt messed a lot up. For me, my friends, my family… For citizens of this city. His victims and their families. I just… I thought that if any of this ever came to an end… I thought I'd hate him. But the thing is… The thing is it's not about what we've gotta go up against. It isn't about hating whatever's being put in front of us. I don't wanna speak for everyone, but I don't think a lot of us do. It's about…" Her eyes found Maura's frame. "It's about loving what we got behind us."

The detective suddenly felt bare and agonizingly aware of the all the eyes staring back up at her. She was agonizingly aware of the uniform that clung to her skin and of the way her hair was tied up into a neat, tight sock bun. She was agonizingly aware of the award she thought she didn't deserve, the award that should've been given to some other service member like the PFC who had earlier graced the stage.

But most of all, she was agonizingly aware of the fact that though her eyes had found Maura, Maura's didn't seemed to have found hers.

"I don't really know where I was going with that," she said, wincing at the sound of her voice. "But, uh, I guess I just thought that was something that needed to be said. Um, thanks. Thank you."

The slow applause that followed her off the stage became something larger. Some of them stood as they brought their hands together. Others only nodded in recognition, in understanding. Many of the people in the room had volunteered to answer a calling, despite the dangers that might be associated with it. They shared similar sentiments.

Maura felt pride well up in her body.

That had been Jane. Up on the stage. With something to say.

Her Jane.

No. Not her Jane. Just Jane.

The thought unsettled her. Scared her. And caused the fear to begin to simmer again, threatening to ripple into a boil. And like every fear she had held in the past month and a half, Maura beat the feeling down and forced a smile onto her face. She had chosen to arrive at the ceremony with some of the other lab techs, and so decided to watch the entire affair from afar.

Jane looked up at the uniformed woman in front of her. She hated looking up. The Private First Class smiled and sat down at a nearby chair, immediately understanding. She knew how'd she, herself, would feel. Jane knew, from that moment, that the conversation would proceed slowly.

"That was a good speech up there," she said.

Jane laughed; "Thanks. You're the real hero though. I just shot myself."

"Still took some balls."

"Yeah, well, a lot of things take some balls. Doesn't make them good ideas."

"But you'd do it again right? If you had to, you know, go through it again."

"Oh, hell yeah," Jane said, quietly. "Would you?"

Abby nodded; "Yeah, I would. See him?" She pointed at man dressed in Army dress blues. He wore the same chevron as Abby. "That's Gary. We enlisted together."

"You came back together?"

"Well, uh, war isn't very good for relationships. Being out there teaches you things, you know? Puts things into perspective. Makes you learn things about yourself." She leaned forward a little bit when Jane moved her hands to her abdomen. A small wince had spread on the detective's face. "It still hurts, doesn't it?"

"Yeah…"

"I can still feel the bullet. The doctors left it in. It was too close to… something."

"They gave you a bunch of mumbo jumbo medical crap, huh?"

"Didn't understand a word of it," Abby laughed.

"Felt the same way at the hospital."

"So, um… Why'd you do what you did?"

"Why'd you do what _you _did?" Jane retaliated, instinctively.

"Point taken," said Abby, chuckling and nodding.

Jane sighed; "Sorry. Hey, um… See her?" Jane nodded towards the woman in the blue dress walking aimlessly around. "That's Maura. She's our chief ME. She was the one… She was the one that he was gonna kill if he got away." Jane looked down at her hands before looking up. "Your turn."

The taller woman mirrored Jane's sigh as she looked away. "Everyone thinks I did it for Gary. High school sweethearts. Made sense for a lot of people so I let them believe it. Not that he minded either."

"So who was it about?"

"See her?" Abby whispered. The woman she pointed out had her hair pulled back in a sock bun, too. The woman seemed uncomfortable in the neck tab and dress blues, and she rubbed the single chevron on her shoulder. "That's Kate. She's the only other female in the platoon. Neither of us were really happy when we got lumped into the same squad too. We were afraid of looking bad. Can't have that happen around all the guys. Motor T's just the same as infantry. Grunts on wheels. But… we got close. And when everything went down… With all those bullets… The blast knocked her unconscious, so all I could think about was getting that gun out."

"Are you two…" Jane didn't want to say it aloud. She knew the implications. She hoped the other woman would understand what she was trying to say.

"No," she whispered. "Not really. But I'm out after this. And maybe then… I don't know. We'll see. You?"

"Not even close. I think… I think she's afraid. But I'm good with waiting."

"I wish I had your patience."

"Just stick it out, you know? It'll happen. Gut feeling."

"I'm honored," smiled Abby, but both women's thoughts had already drifted to their respective object of hope.

Maura looked on from behind a glass of wine, her stomach beginning to burn. That woman. The Army Private First Class. Abby… Something. Her photographic memory couldn't even bring itself to remember the other woman's full name. She analyzed Jane's smile. The micro-expressions revealed everything. The smile was genuine. And the other woman, the soldier, really would be perfect for Jane.

She's just like her.

Strong.

Tall.

Dedicated.

Independent.

Unafraid.

For Maura, the fear reared its ugly head around every turn. Around every corner and around every word or phrase or sentence. And it killed her. Ate at her.

Frost tapped her on the soldier.

"Hey, doc," he said. "How you doing?"

"Oh, hello, Barry. I suppose I'm fine."

"You suppose? That sounds convincing."

"I don't know. I'm just tired, I think. I haven't lost this much sleep since…"

"College finals?" offered Frost. That was their strongest connection. Bond.

Maura laughed; "No. I slept plenty in college. A good mixture of…"

"Beer," said Frost, quickly before Maura could begin her one-sided conversation about grabbing a good night's worth of sleep. Especially in college. He had almost forgotten there was a reason he had gone over to the doctor. "But really. How _are _you doing?"

"Tired. Just… tired."

"It's killing you, isn't it?"

"That's quite the hyperbole. It's a little inappropriate considering the fact that I am not currently dying."

"On the outside your not."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying."

"It hurts. Seeing Jane with that other woman?"

"That's silly. Why would it hurt?"

Frost ignored the blatant attempt at deflection; "Seeing her smile like that. With that other woman. It hurts you."

"Well… I… I…"

She tried to bring herself to lie but couldn't.

"She misses you, you know? I'm not supposed to say anything but… Well screw it. She makes us check on you. All the time. She cares, doc. Before all this heavy crap went down, I know something happened between the two of you. Couldn't really put my finger on it, but something happened. Have a feeling it took its toll on both of you. Jane was a wreck."

"I… remember."

"She cares, doc. I know you do, too."

"I… don't know what you're attempting to say."

"Alright, doc. I guess that's as far as I can go for now. You can say what you want to me. All that stuff really doesn't matter too much. But when you see Jane and that soldier walk out that door together? Ask yourself what the feeling you're feeling is. And don't come running to me with the answer. Answer to yourself."

Frost left, breathing a sigh of relief when his face was out of Maura's shocked gaze. He felt as though he hadn't breathed for the entire conversation. And he also felt that he would be royally _screwed _if Jane found out he had spilled. And she would.

Maura continued to watch Jane from the corner of her eye and barely noticed when another man approached her. The doctor. Jane's doctor.

At the other side of the room, Jane scowled.

"Something the matter," Abby asked.

"Him," growled the detective. "_That _is my surgeon. _Flirting _with Maura. Refers to _everything _in the royal 'we.'"

"Oh. One of those."

"How are we feeling today?" mimicked Jane in a high pitched voice. Her voice lowered to its regular pitch. "Like I got a gaping bullet hole in my stomach. Yours seems to be doing fine."

The soldier chuckled before reverting back to a more serious tone; "So what's she doing with him?"

"I don't know. He's an ass." She looked at the woman across from her. "I'd be happy, you know, if it were any other guy in the world. Any other guy that she actually _deserves_. I'd wait. I just know that's just what I gotta do. Wait for her. For as long as it takes."

"You are damn hopeful."

"I try," said Jane, flashing a smile. "It's a long story, but it's just something I know."

"Gut feeling?"

"Oh yeah."

The two were silent again, allowing their thoughts to again wander. Jane's eyes suddenly flew into a panic,

"Oh shit. Fuck. Hide me." Jane quickly wheeled her chair over and ducked behind Abby.

"What's going on?"

"That there," whispered Jane, "is my ex-boyfriend from high school."

"Lieutenant Colonel Casey?"

"That's the one. 'Cept I know him without all that lieutenant colonel crap in front of his name. To me, he's just, dumped-me-before-Prom-Casey."

"That is… good dirt."

Maura watched the two women leave the building, Frankie, and another male soldier in tow. She felt her heart pound furiously in her chest. Jealousy. The feeling was… Jealousy. Maura pushed the idea out of her head as soon as it arrived, the fear clinging to the walls of her mind. _No_, she thought. _Jane is my friend, and I have ruined things enough as is. It's better too… wait this out. And maybe we will forget and return to the way we were_.

But Maura knew that her hopes were lost as soon as they left the threshold of her imagination.

Jane waved to Abby who waved back from the door of the car in front of her. Gary stood by the door, opening it for his squad mate. Frankie did the same and attempted to help Jane into the car. She punched him in the ribs and helped herself.

"Ow! You know I'm drivin' you, right Janie? Jeez."

"Just get in the car and drive, alright? This uniform's really itchy."

Jane watched the exchange from shotgun of her car. Abby smiled and nodded at the other man.

"Damn it. I forgot my cover in there. Didn't even notice I was out like this. You mind waiting a bit, Abby?"

"Nah, go ahead. I don't have anywhere to be. You're good."

Gary nodded thankfully and ran back into the building, his hand covering his shaved head. Abby watched and laughed before turning to the guy her lieutenant had hired to chauffeur her home. Only the best for the hero of the day.

She still felt bad. She sure as hell didn't need a driver.

"You can get in the car if you want," she said. "And turn up the AC. Go ahead. He might be a while."

The driver flashed a thankful smile and ducked into the car. No one heard him click the keys into the car and turn, but it was the explosion that shattered through the air.

The detectives flocked to the scene.

Someone dragged a shocked Jane out of the car.

"Take her home," yelled Cavanaugh. "Everyone else! Get right here, now!"

Someone attempted to keep a distraught woman away from the blast, a woman clad in Army dress blues. Maura looked on, paralyzed with fear. She saw Jane yelling out from Frankie's arms, towards the severely burnt body of the Private First Class. Maura couldn't move. She longed to take Frankie's place and hold Jane, to soothe her, to feel her in her arms.

But Maura couldn't move.

And was silent.

And still.

As Frankie took the shaken detective away.

* * *

><p>The skin covering her forearms felt tight as she pushed the wheels foreword another time. The earlier events had been flashing through her and so now she was here. In one of the nicer neighborhoods of Boston, sitting beneath a streetlight. She grabbed the pole with two hands and lifted herself up, so that she was standing and so that the chair was set aside.<p>

And then she yelled.

"Maura! It's… me. You don't have to come out here. Hell, you don't have to say anything back to me. I get it! It's fine! I just… I need you to know something! I'm going to wait for you, Maura Isles! For as long as it takes! I miss you, alright?" Jane paused to take a breath and clutched the cavity in her stomach. The pain was rippling through her muscles. The autumn chill running through the air didn't help. "There's a train station down in South Boston! It doesn't run no more… Used to be a direct line to somewhere up north! The station's still there, Maura. And I'll be waiting there! Everyday! Every morning! At four! Hell, I know it's early, but I know you're up then anyway. I'll be there, Maura! You can't get rid of me that easy."

When she stopped speaking, there was silence and nothing else. Somebody's dog barked a block off, and Jane could hear the faint flow of cars from one of the larger streets.

Nothing moved in Maura's apartment.

But Jane nodded, as if she were acknowledging something to the doctor's face, and she lowered herself back into the chair, stretched out her arms, and began the long trek back to her own bed.


	17. Feel Good Inc

**I don't own anything.**

**Feel Good Inc. - Gorillaz**

**"Had the hero failed the crisis? Caused it, by some innate provocation? Or was the bogus crisis unworthy, and the outcome its own reward? Who'd shamed whom?" - Jonathan Lethem's "Super Goat Man"**

* * *

><p>Jane Rizzoli looked up at the daunting task ahead of her. The incline spread out, plastered with trees and branches and dead leaves that had been patted down hard by the rain. She had gone far enough with the wheelchair, and the damn thing sure as hell wasn't going to go up the hill.<p>

It was morning, but it was early enough for the lines to be blurred between night and day. The cold New England air bit Jane's skin as she grabbed a tree and pulled herself into an upright position. The wheelchair lolled back and forth behind her as she left it behind, tackling the incline one step at a time.

She collapsed after the fifth step. So she grabbed for another tree and pulled herself up again. The branches scraped at her skin as she fell again, this time after three steps. She tried again after a short rest. Only to fall again after a few more final steps. Dirt smeared over her jacket as she slowly used her arms to drag herself up the incline.

_It's gonna be hell getting back_, she thought with a grimace.

Nothing stopped her, however, from moving forward.

What should've been a three minute walk took Jane Rizzoli fifteen minutes. _Better that it took fifteen minutes_, she thought, when she reached the summit. She brought herself to walk the flat platform over to the bench that overlooked the tracks and sat down, grunting. _Feels better with some effort thrown in there. Could've used some coffee though. Yeah. Coffee would've been nice._

Silently, Jane Rizzoli sat on the bench, steam gathering near her lips. The morning fog clung to the tracks, grazing the patches of untouched rust that hugged the metal. Even the sinews of grass that had begun to grasp at the lengths of the tracks seemed to avoid the ugly rust, and only an entity as ephemeral as the fog that blanketed the ground below the platform would pass over, the molecules fleetingly brushing over the aged scars. Like small children playing chicken on some lonely run of track.

Her fingers became numb and the cavity in her stomach began to tighten, the muscles frantically sending messages of pain to her brain. She clutched at the wound without much fanfare and silently began to contemplate the orchestra of human noise that echoed through a four thirty a.m. Boston.

She waited.

* * *

><p>"What the hell, Rizzoli? I told you to stay home."<p>

"I know, I know… I just… I need to be on this case, Lieutenant."

"You haven't been cleared for active duty, yet."

"I know! If it were any other case… I swear to God I'd be sitting on my ass. Let me do this one, Lieutenant. For Abby."

Cavanaugh sighed. Jane Rizzoli really was a damn thorn in his side. A helpful thorn. A thorn that was a good cop. But a damn thorn, nonetheless. Her hotheadedness was exactly why he would want her on any detective team. But it also made her a damn annoyance.

"Fine, Rizzoli. But you listen to me. No badge. No gun. You're not on the books for this one. You make one stupid move, and I'll have you on desk duty for the rest of your goddamn life, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Jane Rizzoli turned her wheelchair around at the same time Cavanaugh did with himself, silently doing a small dance and cheering. Frost and Korsak gave her a small thumbs up before staring intently back at their computers, careful to mind Cavanaugh suddenly turning around again.

"Alright, Sergeant Detective," emphasized Jane, turning to Korsak. "What do we got?"

"We got some Army officer working with us on this one. They're worried this might be some terrorist attack."

"On home soil?"

Jane crossed one arm over her chest and lifted the other to her mouth. She chewed on the pad of her thumb as she contemplated the possibility. Stateside terrorist attack. That wouldn't go over to well.

"Yeah," Frost answered. "That's what they're getting at. Tried suggesting it might've been one of the soldiers here at home but…"

"…that'd be even worse than a terrorist attack," finished Jane. "What about the bomb? We got any intel on that?"

"Sent it over to bomb squad," said Frost again. "They're saying it's not anything too fancy. It's something anyone could put together in their basement. The whole thing's made outta generic shit. From top to bottom. No way to really trace it."

"Well that sure as hell narrows things down," growled Jane.

"It'd help if we could talk to the vic," mumbled Frost, as he typed something into his computer.

"You know her status? How is she?"

"Stable. For now. She got burnt pretty bad. They got her in some sort of coma right now. And we already released the driver's body. Doc Isles already went through it. Hell, the body was so burnt up there wasn't anything we could get from it."

Jane turned to the blackboard the other two detectives had written their notes up on. She continued to chew on the pad of her thumb, running her teeth over the small ridges of her thumbprint.

"So right now, all you got up here is terrorist. Nothing else."

"Could be a soldier. Can't think of anyone who has a motive. Hell, I'd be damned if some soldier boy did this. A squad is a squad. You don't mess with your own family."

"No offense, Korsak. But, you never served with women. Some of these boys might be feeling some resentment…"

"…over having to have their asses saved by a girl," finished Frost.

"No way," Korsak said. "Them doggies might not got our kind of balls… But that doesn't change a thing in combat. A squad is a squad. Shit don't matter when you got bullets and bombs flying around."

Jane paused and nodded; "Alright, Korsak. I'm sorry. But we gotta consider Gary. He's one of the other PFCs."

"What about him?" asked Korsak, carefully.

"He was buddy buddy with the vic. Or used to be. In high school. They enlisted together."

"Put him on the board," muttered the older detective.

"And there's another. Don't think she did this, but I got a feeling she might be involved somehow. She was in the same squad. PFC Kate O'Connor. O'Connor and the vic had something going. Might've stirred things up."

"This whole squad's one goddamn clusterfuck… Never seen anything like this. Not once."

"I say we question the squad. See what was going on here. The fourth man. I wanna know what he thinks of all this. The officer too. I want his view on this whole mess."

Frost chuckled in his seat as he picked up his desk phone. He put the piece to his ear; "Glad to have you back, Rizzoli."

"Right. Okay. You seen Maura around?"

"Downstairs. In the morgue."

"Alright. Good to know." She paused for a second before looking at Frost. "Uh, and thanks. For… You know."

* * *

><p>"Doctor Isles!" smiled Angela Rizzoli as she walked into the morgue. "How are you today?"<p>

"Oh! Mrs. Rizzoli. Hello. I'm… fine, thank you."

"Well, if you say so. Is Janie here? I've been looking for her and I can't find her anywhere. I thought she might be down here with you."

Maura looked around, flustered; "Why would you think that?"

"I thought she was always down here." Angela pulled the Tupperware out from underneath her arms and presented it for the doctor to see. "It's Janie's first day back. I thought I'd come by and give her lunch. I used to do that _all _the time when Janie was in school. This way, the food isn't cold when she eats it."

"Jane's back today?"

"Of course, it is. Hasn't she told you, dear? She came here determined to work that poor soldier's case. I can't remember her name… Something… Uh…."

"Abby," said Maura, shortly. "I believe it was Abby." Maura's voice softened. "And no. Jane… hasn't told me anything about being back today. It must've slipped her mind."

_Not exactly a lie_, Maura thought.

"Oh, I'm being _rude_!" exclaimed Angela, suddenly. Maura jumped. "Here I am talking about bringing Jane her lunch, and you're standing there all hungry. Now come on. Do you have any plates? It's chicken pot pie. I'm sure Janie can share."

"No, no. It's okay. I've already eaten. Perhaps Jane is upstairs? Have you gone by?"

"Yes I have. I swear that girl is trying to avoid me like the plague. Now if only she knew what I went through to bring her out into this world! Do you know what I went through, Maura?"

"I'm sure it was very difficult, Mrs. Rizzoli," smiled Maura, weakly.

Simply hearing Jane's name caused a pang to pass through the doctor. Her head suddenly felt heavy on her shoulders, and she – just as suddenly – didn't know what to do with her hands. She watched as Angela absentmindedly began to leave the morgue, her wandering eyes constantly getting distracted by all the little things that inhabited the morgue. Angela turned back sharply, an epiphany written all across her face.

"Oh, honey! Jane probably already asked you, but are you doing anything for Thanksgiving?"

"No…" replied Maura, nervously, not really sure on which question it was she was answering.

"Well, good. You should come celebrate with us. This time it's gonna be a whole weekend affair. We're gonna have lots of people over for dinner, and football, and all sorts of other things. You should come, Doctor Isles! It'll be fun! Jane would be so happy if you decided to come."

"I... I don't know if that'll be a good idea…"

"Why? Do you have a date?"

"No," said Maura quickly, unable to lie.

"Then why not?"

"I'm not… I'm not sure Jane will want me there…"

"Nonsense. You're her best friend! And you saved her life, dear. So you're eating Thanksgiving with us. I'll call you with the details later. I have to find Jane so she can eat this lunch I slaved over before it gets cold."

Maura watched, dumbstruck, as Angela left the room.

She hardly knew what to think.

* * *

><p>Jane ignored the pain that started in her abdomen and rippled down to her knees. Pain, she had learned, was in the head. It was all mental. She sighed, imagining the Maura would have some random drawn-out fact on the whole thing. <em>Probably some fancy who-ha about the brain or something. Nerves. Or something.<em>

It had been a whole day… a _long _day of interviewing various suspects on the bombing. And already the next day had come. Already Jane was sitting on the bench, _contemplating_. The pad of her thumb found her mouth again, and she chewed.

She hadn't told anyone she had been coming here, and that she would continue to come here. She hadn't told anyone that she had been spending hours at night trying to walk, on her own, farther than a single yard. She hadn't told anyone that the pain in her stomach hadn't stopped. She hadn't told anyone that she had secretly enrolled in a nighttime college. And she certainly hadn't told anyone that she had done this all for Maura, so that she could become that person who Maura truly deserves.

She hadn't told anyone any of it.

She found no reason to.

It would only serve to alarm people when all hands on deck should focus on the case that had just hit all of their desks. The idea of a bomber scared the precinct almost as much as a serial killer would.

Bombs… They could strike anywhere, and no one would no better. And the timer. There was always a timer… A time limit. And more often than not, it'd be more than one person dead at the end of it. Blasted into tiny pieces.

A terrorist would've targeted something bigger. Something of more importance. Something with more people around. Abby had received a bronze star. An accomplishment, yes. A worth accomplishment, yes. But it wasn't exactly worth the type of media fanfare that a terrorist would want or expect. Any bronze star, after all, wouldn't attract much attention now that they were awarding that Army specialist with a Medal of Honor.

_That _sounded more like something a terrorist would target.

Just because Abby was a soldier… It meant nothing. People have come to expect soldiers and Marines to get blown up. Now that the IEDs have increased in multitude and magnitude in Afghanistan… It had become a tragically commonplace thing. A thing to expect. A terrorist _terrorizes_, and terror comes from chaos.

Fear comes from chaos.

And no one can expect chaos. Chaos cannot be expected.

A soldier dies from a terrorist car bomb, people are devastated. But they expect it. Soldiers and Marines _volunteer_ for this kind of thing. It isn't chaos. It doesn't draw fear.

But if a terrorist targets _civilians_… If a terrorist targets a _subway_, or _mall_, or _anywhere_ where _civilians _are likely to gather… None of them volunteer. None of them decide to put on a uniform. They go about their daily lives not knowing better, expecting nothing other than their normal routine.

But when that routine _breaks_. The war is overseas. _Civilians_ are not supposed to die. _Civilians _are not supposed to be targets of IEDs or bombs. People wonder, to themselves, if they're next. If their families are next. If it's their workplace that will be bombed next or if it'll be their subway station that will be attacked next. No one knows. It's not _expected_. It's not part of the _routine_.

And so when it does happen, it breeds chaos.

And chaos breeds fear. Terror.

And that is precisely what a terrorist targets.

This, Jane thought, is not a terrorist attack. But something personal. Only one person died: the driver. The type of bomb it was… Only the driver, Abby, and Gary would've been killed, worst case scenario. So it was personal. It wasn't meant to terrorize. No, it was simply meant to kill.

Jane considered the revelations she had come to.

Fear. Chaos. Routine.

Jane was determined not to break Maura's routine. She was determined not to cause chaos in the other woman's life. She was determined not to cause the fear. In fact, she would do anything to stop it.

When the time comes, Maura would come to her.

Jane sat on the bench, waiting, yet again. And she was content. She was content with the world around her, with the tracks, the platform, the fog, the grass, the rust. She was content with it all. At peace.

But Jane Rizzoli was Jane Rizzoli, and there was nothing she hated more than sitting aside, warming the bench, twiddling her thumbs.

Jane Rizzoli was Jane Rizzoli.

* * *

><p><strong>Just wanted to let you all know I've got another RizzoliIsles story in the works. It's called When The Sun Sleeps, it's not related to this story, and my releasing that story doesn't mean I'm dropping this one. It should be interesting, and I'd say it's worth checking out. Enjoy.**


	18. In The Aeroplane Over The Sea

**I don't own anything.**

**In The Aeroplane Over The Sea - Neutral Milk Hotel**

**"The greatest punishment we could invent for her was to keep her separate from him: yet she got chided more than any of us on his account." - Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights**

* * *

><p>Maura Isles stood outside of the Rizzoli's front door. The box in her hands suddenly felt heavy, and she wondered if it were to late to back out of the whole ordeal right then and there. She could leave the box on the doorstep, press the doorbell, and run. As she looked down at her feet, she almost regretted wearing heels. Maura bitterly laughed at herself as she considered the sheer insanity of the idea. It sounded like something that Jane was more likely to do, or convince Maura to do.<p>

Jane.

Jane was behind that door. With her family and all the warmth that came with her family. Jane's family had always made her a little jealous, but more than jealously, she had always felt a strange sort of contentment come over her whenever she was with them. She supposed that was Jane's doing as much as anybody else. She had always managed to inadvertently do that. Make Maura feel included. Make her feel like she belonged. Made her feel like she was wanted.

And so there she was. Because of the older Rizzoli woman.

For Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving.

It had been said that, when the European explorers and settlers first sailed into the New World, that not a single Native American could even perceive their incoming arrival. As they looked out at the open sea, they saw nothing but endless stretches of water. But the village's medicine man had noticed strange ripples streamlining towards the land. And so he spent days waiting at the beach, studying the ripples that were only growing closer and closer. It was then that he noticed the large clipper ships that were a staple of European exploration. The clipper ships were the thing that had caused the ripples. The man opened the eyes of the villagers to the sight. Incredibly, not a single one had noticed the mammoth clipper ships that were clearly in plain sight.

They simply had no conception of a contraption such as a clipper ship. The mere thought of it was, to them, impossible. So their brains simply erased the image from their sight, and they did not perceive the great ships that had been sailing towards them the entire time.

Maura jumped when the door opened.

"Hi," said the woman in front of her, shyly.

Maura's heart jumped with her.

"Hello, Jane," said Maura, equally as quietly.

"You wanna come in, or do you wanna keep staring at the door? It really isn't _that _nice," Jane said, attempting a joke.

Maura shifted her feet, and Jane felt the silence come over them again.

"Ma told me that she invited you," she said quietly. "Didn't think you'd come. Sorry about Ma busting in on you at the morgue. It's uh… I didn't know she'd do that."

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," sighed Maura. "I suppose I'll come in now."

The two women silently walked into the house, both upset at the fact that this was so difficult. So hard.

"What'd you got there?" asked Jane, trying to break the silence.

Maura lifted her arms up and presented the box to Jane; "Well, I thought it was customary to bring food to Thanksgiving. I thought I'd bring by some pie. It's pecan. I thought… I thought you'd enjoy it… It's your…"

"…my favorite," finished Jane. The taller woman smiled. "You know, not even Ma knows that I like pecan. I think you're the only one who knows that about me." She gingerly took the box from Maura's hands. "I'm gonna have to keep this away from Frankie. He'll eat it all before I get a chance to look at it."

She laughed. The tension slowly began to ease out of the air.

"Pies," started Maura, "were quite the staple at sea. There was a demand for easy-to-store, long lasting, and nutritious foods, so the pie was invented. It was a particularly useful invention, I might add. And the flavor does tend to release high levels of serotonin. It's quite fascinating. The first pies were actually discovered in ancient Egypt…"

"I missed you, Maura," interrupted Jane.

Maura fell silent again.

"I'm… I'm sorry," stuttered Jane. "I guess I shouldn't have said that. I just… This is nice, you know? It's actually… turning out to be kinda easy. Like riding a bike. It's good."

"It's okay, Jane." Maura's voice was quiet. "I've missed you too. It's been… too long, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, it has been. Look… We don't gotta be complicated or nothing. I don't wanna make you feel uncomfortable or anything so…"

"Jane…"

"No, it's all good. It's okay. I know I messed things up. I messed them up real bad, and… I hate to see you upset. Let's just… Let's just go back to being friends? Like before? Is that good with you? You okay with that?"

"It sounds wonderful, Jane."

"Good. Now let me just go put this pie in the kitchen, and I'll be right back. Some of the guys and I are going out for some football. You can, uh… come watch." Jane's words became shy and she looked down, shifting her feet around. "Course, only if you, uh, wanna."

Maura smiled, finally feeling at ease, the fear dissipating from her mind.

"I'd love to. I don't think I'd be able to play, though…"

"S'okay," said Jane, smiling as if she were some little kid after breakfast on Christmas morning. "You don't have to."

When Jane returned, Jane helped Maura into one of Jane's older heavier winter jackets. Maura snuggled into the fabric.

"It'll get cold out there," whispered Jane. "Don't want you getting cold on me, alright?"

Maura only nodded.

She watched from the sidelines, not far from the other chatting women. Some were Rizzoli through and through, born and bred. Others had been welcomed into the fold, as girlfriends and wives.

"You're new," exclaimed one of the women, to Maura. "Who're you with? I'm with old Jack there. I met him a couple years ago… We've been coming up from New York every year for this…"

"Don't you work for the po-lice?" asked another. "You must be here with Frankie. He's a nice boy, you know. He'll make a good husband. You might be the one, you know. Frankie needs a good wife."

The other Rizzoli women nodded in agreement.

"I'm… I'm actually here with Jane," said Maura. She surprised herself with how good it felt to say it. _I'm here with Jane_, she thought. _With Jane_. "As friends," she added quickly, worried about the implications.

As the words flew out of her mouth, she saw Jane tackle one of the larger men down hard to the ground, her padded up wheelchair smacking him hard in the knees. The football hit the dirt as Jane smiled, clearly pleased with the old sports wheel chair her father had given her.

"No fair, Jane!" whined the man.

"Shut your trap, Donny! That's fourth down… It's our ball now!"

Maura smiled as she watched Jane look around triumphantly, someone on her team picking up the ball and setting it down, ready to start their first play. Jane put herself down on the line, still smiling, her eyes looking up and finding Maura's. Jane's smile extended. Maura's heart jumped again. It seemed to have become a common occurrence.

"Well Janie's certainly something," said a Rizzoli woman. "You must be one of the good ones. Jane hasn't brought anyone to Thanksgiving dinner in a long time… Not since little Casey."

"I told her to bring along that old partner of hers," piped in one of the more aged Rizzoli's. "What's his name? The cute one?"

"Barry Frost?" attempted Maura.

"No, no. Not him. The _other _one. With the facial hair."

"Do you mean, Vince?"

"Oh yes! That's him! Vince Korsak. My, he's sexy. Wouldn't mind hitting that ass."

Maura laughed, utterly surprised to hear those words come out of the seventy year old woman. Clearly the Rizzoli flair never died out.

"Ew, grandma," muttered another. "That's gross." She turned to Maura. "I'm sorry, we don't even know your name yet."

"Maura Isles."

"Well, Maura. You should feel honored. Jane's a picky one. I've been waiting for her to bring someone to one of these things for a while. She doesn't let herself have anybody, you know?"

"I do feel… lucky."

"Well good. Because I'll kick your pretty little ass if you don't," laughed the woman. "I'm Janie's cousin. None of the Rizzoli boys seem to be able to hold their own weight, so me and Jane do most of the heavy lifting." The woman lifted her beer as if to toast. "I'm Jesse."

"It's nice to meet you, Jesse."

"Ouch! Really, Frankie? Again?"

Maura snapped her head around to see a nervous Frankie standing over Jane, who now had her hand plastered to her face. Maura panicked when she saw some of the blood beginning to trickle down from under her palm. She rushed over into the feel, worry beginning to seep over.

"Let me see it, Jane," Maura said, kneeling beside the wheelchair.

"No."

"Please, Jane?"

Jane opened up one eye to look at Maura and began to let another smile touch her face.

"No," she said again, childishly. "I don't wanna."

"C'mon, Jane. Let me see."

"Fine."

She slowly lifted her hand from the bleeding noise. Frankie handed a towel over from the first aid kit Angela had made them bring along. He was clearly worried. Not for Jane's sake, but for his own. Jane was _so _gonna kick his ass later. He was _not _looking forward to it. Not at all.

Maura wiped the blood away, and Jane shivered as she felt the other woman's breath on her cold skin.

"Well, it's not disfiguring."

"Damn, I thought I'd get to have an Owen Wilson nose after all this."

Maura looked over at her pointedly.

"What?" Jane wiggled her eyebrows. "Broken noses are sexy, right?"

"You should put some ice on this, Jane… And no more football. You don't want to stress the… You don't want to stress it out too much."

Maura couldn't bring herself to say the word. _Wound_. The mere thought of the whole thing caused her to shake a little and grow silent again. And recede. Again. Jane noticed.

"Hey! Uh… You mind just putting it back for me, again?"

"It's not a Lego block, Jane. You can't keep breaking your nose."

"Well maybe I want a sexy broken nose. Besides. It was Frankie's fault."

"Hey! Uh.. I'm sorry, sis. Really. Didn't mean it. Not at all." He caught on to Jane's attempt to lighten the mood. And spoke again, meekly. "Don't kick my ass. _Please_."

Jane and Maura laughed, and Frankie smiled, triumphant that he had been able to complete his end of the task. _Should get me out of an ass kicking later_, he thought. Jane nodded to him in appreciation before turning back to Maura. She held her breath as Maura brought her fingers up the nose, moving it with a crack.

"Aw shit… That_ hurts_, damn it. I forget every time…"

"Let me take you back, Jane," Maura said, her mood lightened again.

It was strange, how were mood was so easily lightened when she was around Jane. It had been unexpected. This entire thing had been so unexpected. Not to mention she expected a different reaction from Jane. She had been convinced – absolutely convinced – that Jane was not happy with her. After all, why would she be?

Maura hadn't come to the hospital to visit the Rizzoli once since the woman woke up. She hadn't called and she hadn't offered one ounce of support. Even after Jane… Even after Jane had put the bullet into herself to save her. To save Maura. The thought caused fear to begin to well up in Maura again.

But this time, this time she pushed it away.

It was Thanksgiving, and here was a chance for things to go back to the way they were. Before everything had happened.

"We're gonna head back to the house, now?" yelled Jane over her shoulder.

She was met with grunts of understanding.

Jane turned back to Maura; "So you met some of the girls, huh?"

"Yes, I did."

"You met, Jesse?"

"I did."

"You two seemed to hit it off."

"She was very nice, Jane. I liked her."

Jane felt a strange new feeling begin to well up in her stomach. Was that…? _Jealously?_ Was she feeling_ jealous_? Of _Jesse_? She shook her head as she pushed away the unsettling feeling and looked back at Maura.

"Hey, you know… I don't really wanna go back to the house yet… You wanna go for a walk or something? I mean… I won't be walking. You will. I'll be… rolling or something. You know."

"We need to get some ice on your nose, Jane. The swelling will go up."

"We can just take the long way around. It'd be nice. We'll still get home in time. I just don't wanna go back to Ma yet. She'll flip when she sees the nose."

"Okay, Jane," smiled Jane.

The two walked – or rolled – around the corner, deciding to add a couple extra blocks to the trip. The neighborhood was increasingly quiet. Everyone had either gone away or stayed in. To celebrate Thanksgiving. The two women were equally as silent, surprised at how comfortable it felt to be silent at all.

"So uh..." started Jane. "What happened to that Financial Crimes guy?"

"Who? Ian?"

"Yeah. Haven't seen him around lately."

"Well… Before your… Before your funeral…" The words felt strange coming out of Maura's mouth. The words felt nearly as strange entering Jane's ears. "I broke up with him."

"Why?"

"It didn't feel right. You had just… died… and… I had put two and two together about that fight you two had. Frankie decided to tell me more about what really had happened and… I slapped him and told him to leave my apartment as promptly as possible. He tried to take me to _your_ _funeral_, Jane. I wasn't going to have any of it."

"I'm sorry, Maura," Jane's voice was rough. "I'm sorry for all of it. For putting you through all of that."

"Can you stop saying that?"

"Saying what?"

"Saying that you're sorry. Please stop."

"I… uh… alright… I guess."

"Should we head back now? We really need to get you some ice."

* * *

><p>Dinner was nice. Warm. Frank Sr. took out a large knife and everyone had cringed when they saw him begin to carve the rather sizeable turkey in front of him.<p>

"What?" he had exclaimed.

And Maura had relished in the feeling of the family atmosphere that had settled into the room. She had never had an experience such as this. Thanksgivings in her family were nothing like this. No extended family. It had always just been the three of them. The food, of course, had always been delicious. They always had the food prepared by the in-house cook. But this.

Maura had no doubt in her mind that the food here tasted far better.

She hadn't smiled for so long. She hadn't given an actual smile in so long. It had been months, even. Ever since Jane had… No, the smiles had been fake. But here… Here they were real. Genuine. Unstoppable. She looked over at Jane who had a similar smile plastered across her face. She found herself moving her hand over to Jane's, her palm covering the back of the detective's hand.

Her fingers intertwined with Jane, and from the corner of her eye, she saw the detective smile shyly down at the chunky slices of turkey that adorned her plate. Maura felt herself smile again.

Dinner ended with an assortment of pies and fruit and cups of steaming coffee. Maura watched as the Rizzoli's howled in laughter over the embarrassing stories.

"Ma, no! Don't tell it again… _Please_."

"Don't be silly, Janie. I always tell this story."

"Yeah, it's like a… tradition or something."

"Aw, c'mon! Really, Ma. Everyone here's heard the story! You don't haveta tell it _again_."

"Well, Maura hasn't heard it, has she?"

Maura looked over at Jane expectantly.

"No, no, no, no," said Jane, waving her hands around. "You are _not _telling this story to Maura. _No _way."

"Well it all started when little Janie here was in grade school… Oh, Jane… What did they call you back then? What was it?"

"I don't wanna say."

"Tell everyone!"

Jane crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, before muttering quickly; "Rolly Polly Rizzoli."

The room erupted with laughter.

She shook her arms; "Oh c'mon, guys!"

"Tell the story!" prompted one of the Rizzoli men.

Angela smiled, absolutely delighted; "Well, Janie here was a little chunky back in the day. And she didn't really have the… you know what's to match…" Angela gestured towards her own breasts.

"Ma!"

"So one morning, Janie doesn't let me into her room, and when she finally came out to go to school, she ran out so fast that I didn't get to see her. Well it turns out Janie had been stuffin' her little bra with some tomatoes from the kitchen! She ran straight into the wall and the two tomatoes burst right there and then! There was tomato juice _everywhere_!"

The room exploded in laughter again, and Jane looked down, a little miffed. Maura squeezed Jane's shoulder, eliciting a smile. The room had already forgotten the story and had moved on to Angela's next story about Frankie. Now it was the younger Rizzoli who looked miffed.

When people began to leave for the night, Jane looked over at the tired Maura Isles. She gestured toward the door.

"Hey… uh… you look tired. C'mon. I'll walk… _roll_ you home."

"I _am _quite tired. I'm exhibiting signs of exhaustion…"

"I'll get your coat," smiled Jane, before Maura could begin her explanation.

The two left as silently as possible, so as not to alert Angela of their departure.

"Did you, uh, bring a car?" asked Jane.

"No. It broke down last week. I took a taxi to get here."

"Well then can I walk you home?"

"Yes, Jane. You may."

Jane pushed her wheelchair forward, a little pleased with herself. She breathed in deeply, relishing in the feeling of the cool New England air rushing through her lungs. It made her feel alive. She felt alive. And more content than she had been in a long while. She looked over at the doctor that was now walking beside her.

All Maura had done was arrive, and that was all that it had taken.

And it had been easy.

Exceptionally easy.

After a couple blocks, Jane stopped. She clutched her side and took a deep breath.

"Jane?"

Concern was painted all across Maura's face. Jane did her best to look okay. Fine. Without pain. She didn't want to worry the woman beside her. But Maura had already knelt down and placed her hand over Jane's, over the gunshot wound. She slowly slid Jane hand away, replacing it with her own.

"How long has this been hurting, Jane?"

"For… a while. Ever since I left the hospital."

"It's been too long for the pain to be physical…"

"It's okay, Maura. I'll deal."

"But you're hurting."

"I've been dealing with it."

"How often has this been hurting you?"

Jane considered her options. The truth suddenly seemed to be more appealing. A new development.

"Often," she whispered. "Hard to say how often. Just often."

"Do you know why?" Maura's voice was just as quiet. "The pain… it must be psychological."

"I have an idea."

They fell silent again at Jane's words. Maura's hand lifted from Jane's skin, and she let out an unhappy breath when she felt the warmth remove itself. She put her hands back on the wheels and pushed. Maura had already turned, the click of her heels resounding through the quiet Boston streets.

When the two finally arrived, Jane did the only thing she thought natural. She stopped Maura with her hand when she began to lift herself up from the wheelchair. She stood in front of the other woman. She was shaky, but she was still standing. Jane smiled. _Look here_, she thought. _I can stand. I can do for you what any other guy can. I'd do anything, Maura. Anything._

She kept her promise, however, and did nothing more than stand.

"Jane…" Maura said. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"I'll be fine, Maura," said Jane, quietly.

They fell into silence so many times that day. This moment was another to add to the list. The two gazed into each other's eyes, finding themselves growing increasingly more engrossed with the other. Absorbed. Both had lost track of the time, and Jane had lost track of the waning strength left in her legs.

She found herself stumbling forward.

Jane's hand found Maura's cheek, and they were close.

Their faces were close. Agonizingly close.

They stayed like that for a long time, Jane leaning in towards Maura, absolutely still. Her hand light on Maura's cheek. Maura began to inch her face closer, little by little. She could feel the other woman holding her breath. Their lips were barely a centimeter apart.

The car sped by, and Maura pulled away. The memories… The memories she had spent the whole day trying to push away came back. The fear came crashing down with it. She didn't dare look back at the detective, and averted her gaze as she helped Jane back into her wheelchair. She didn't want to see Jane's expression.

"I'm sorry, Jane," she whispered. "I… I'm so sorry… I just… I can't…"

And then she backed away, disappearing into her apartment door.


	19. All the Stars in Texas

**I don't own anything.**

**...And be sure to take a listen to the title song. It'll be worth the effort.**

**All the Stars in Texas - Ludo**

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><p><strong>"I saw a man pursing the horizon;<strong>

**Round and round they sped.**

**I was disturbed at this;**

**I accosted the man.**

**'It is futile,' I said,**

**'You can never -'**

**'You lie,' he cried,**

**And ran on."**

**- Stephen Crane**

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><p>It had been two hours since Maura had left Jane. One hour since the sky had sent a wintry mix of snow and rain down into Boston. Half an hour since the mix was replaced by winds bearing a significant chill. She had felt a feeling settle in her stomach, unsettling her, and she could no longer simply sit in her apartment. <em>A gut feeling<em>, she thought. _Jane would call this a gut feeling_. The thought that she was now acting on a whim unsettled her even more, but she disguised the feeling by telling herself that she was only worried for Jane's wellbeing.

The weather had been harsh. Wet. Cold. And Jane may have very well been in the midst of it all for an hour. She still might be.

She traced their steps back to the Rizzoli home, and then drove every possible route that Jane might take back to her apartment. She drove by the park Jane liked to take Joe Friday to. She drove by the bars Jane liked to haunt on her own. And all the while, Maura knew that Jane would be at none of these places. Jane would not be walking on the streets, taking the dog out, or even sitting in some rundown Boston bar.

But Maura Isles didn't guess. She hardly ever even estimated. No; there needed to be empirical evidence of the answer.

After Maura visited every place Jane could have been and was not, she drove to the very place where Jane, indeed, was.

She knew she had found the place when she saw Jane's wheelchair tied to a tree, rolling back and forth. The contraption was unmistakable; Jane, determined to make the chair her own, had plastered it with a various assortment of sports stickers and sharpie scribbles. She didn't notice the little picture of her and Jane – together – sticking out from underneath one of the cushions.

She had, at this point, become even more worried. Jane was without her wheelchair. Jane who could hardly stand on her own. Was on her own.

She followed the trail Jane had left on the small incline and wondered how it was the detective managed to get up. In the state that Jane had been in, it would have been near impossible. But she supposed that _that_ was the key word. Near. She suddenly and no doubt that Jane had managed to carry herself up on her own.

When she reached the platform, towel in hand, it had started to rain again. Maura stayed beneath the small roof, in an attempt to stay dry. Jane hardly budged from where she sat. The bench had no such roof over it, and Maura watched in horror as the detective let the ice cold rain soak through her skin.

"Jane!" she yelled. "What are you doing?"

"Maura?"

Jane turned around slowly.

"Maura," she said again, smiling. Giddy. Was she… Intoxicated? "Hi."

"Jane, it's freezing!"

"It's nice." She looked around herself. The rain had washed the fog away. "Alright, it's a little cold. _Just _a little." She looked up at Maura. "You came. It's not four… but you came. How'd you know I'd be here."

"I had a feeling you would."

Jane stood up from the bench and turned herself around so that she was facing Maura. She used the bench to steady herself. To hold herself up.

"Why'd you come, Maura?"

"I was worried Jane! I was worried about you!"

Maura yelled, worried that Jane wouldn't be able to here her over the rain and wind.

"I know… I know that I'm not worth worrying about…"

"Jane, don't…!"

"No, please let me finish. I got a whole damn spiel written out for this. I know that I'm not worth a damn thing. I know that I'm no good for you, and I don't got much that's worth fighting for. I'm a mess. I know that. I'm not smart, I'm not brilliant, I'm stubborn… I got more flaws than I can count on my fingers. You deserve better than me, Maura Isles. You deserve better than all them guys you've been seeing. You just… deserve _better._ And I've been racking at my mind trying to think up of a solution… to have you _happy_ and with somebody you _deserve_. These past couple of months… I've been running away. From you. From this. From what I've been feeling inside.

"And I've been _scared_, Maura. So _fucking scared_. Afraid. The whole damn time I was afraid you'd reject me and leave me the way I was before you found me and picked me up from my dump. But you know what? I was even more afraid that you'd say, yes. That you'd take me up on my offer. Look at me, Maura! I'm a… People get… They get hurt because of me! I'm no good for _anybody_, and you…

"But, Maura… When Hoyt… When it all… When he took me instead of you… When I shot him… me… When I woke up… When I told you that everything would be okay, I meant it. I really did. Maura, I stopped bein' afraid. Hell, I was still scared. I'm still scared now. I'm always scared about what might happen with us. With you. With me. But I stopped bein' afraid. I wasn't afraid no more. I guess I just got so damn tired of being afraid and Hoyt… He was finally dead. Gone. There's no way he's comin' back from this one. So I guess when I stopped bein' so afraid…

"You know why I didn't wake up from that coma? Maura, Ma was right. I stayed in that coma for so damn long because I didn't _want _to. I thought I knew what was waiting for me out here and… In there… In there, everything was so fucking perfect. You and me… we had something. We were together. We _were _something and it felt so good to be a part of.

"In that dream, Maura… You left me to go be a part of something. You left me to go places. And you know what? I was fine with it. I was okay. And you know why I was okay? Because you told me something. You told me to wait. You told me to wait because you'd be back for me. You'd come back. This is where you left me, Maura. Right here in this very spot, on this very platform. The train here was running, and you took that train to go up north. The train would come back in every morning at four thirty a.m. And that's when I'd come here to wait. For you. Every morning, Maura. Every morning for _years_.

"You never came. And I guess a part of it was that the damn train stopped running one day. The damn train itself stopped coming back by. And people called me _insane_. They called me insane for sitting here for a train that would _never _come by. Someone kept quoting Einstein to me. Something about… doin' the same thing over and over again… expecting a different result. They said that that was what I was doing. That I was just waiting here… and everyday I was expecting a different result outta it. But… But I didn't care what they said. It didn't matter. I was _happy_, Maura. I was happy here, waiting for you. So yeah. I stayed in that damn dream of mine.

"And then… And then I remembered something you said to me. In the dream. Before you left me… You said something about a cat. About… Something about Schrodadingy's cat…"

"Schrodinger's cat," corrected Maura, quietly… a little dumbstruck.

"Yeah, that. Him. And his cat. You _said_, that this guy had some sorta experiment… And he had this cat in this box with some sorta atomic timer or something… And at any point in time, this timer could go off and the cat could die… But no one could have any idea when it'd go off. You said something about the cat being dead and alive at the same time… because no one could really know which one it was until somebody opened up the box…

"That's when I woke up, Maura. To you. To find you. To wait for you in real life." Jane laughed weakly. "I'm, uh… no good with speeches. Don't do 'em often. But I've been waiting to say all of this for a while."

In that moment. In that moment with all the wind and the rain and _Jane_, Maura did the only thing that her brain could even begin to process as logical. She hardly understood what it was she was doing as she dropped the towel, allowing it to rest in the dry safety provided by the roof. And she walked forward, allowing the cold rain to beat against her own skin, as it had been with Jane's.

She didn't care that her expensive dress was beginning to soak through, or that it would cost almost just as much to go get it properly washed, dry cleaned, and fixed. She considered, even, not allowing the dress to come even close to a dry cleaner, so that the dress could stay in its purest form as it was in that moment, with Jane. Because with all the rain and snow and everything else the world had decided to throw at them in that moment, the dress was absolutely perfect.

Because of Jane.

Jane had at this point, stumbled away from the bench, the alcohol she had consumed earlier beginning to take its toll. Liquid courage. That was what it was. The beer. The scotch. The bourbon. Liquid courage that flowed through Jane's bloodstream.

Maura pressed her body up against Jane's, her breathing ragged and her hands wrapped around the other woman's neck. She steadied Jane.

"How… how drunk are you, Jane?" she whispered.

"Enough for me to admit all of this. To want this," Jane whispered back. "Not enough for you to feel like I don't know what I'm doing. Thinking. I know exactly what's going on, and I'll remember. Every. Damn. Second of it."

"That's the perfect amount."

And then it happened.

Maura pressed her lips up against Jane's, and they desperately clung to each other as if that everything that had kept them apart until that moment threatened to come crashing back into their lives. But none of them came back and they continued to cling to each other and adhere to each other just as tightly as their wet clothes clung to their skin.

Their lips still pressed together, they backed towards the roof, Maura still supporting the struggling Jane. Maura peeled herself away, allowing the two to properly breathe, and to grab the towel that still managed to stay dry. She brought the towel to Jane's face and dried it, the detective leaning her cheek against the pressure.

She dried Jane's skin before bringing the towel to herself and continuing the same ritual, albeit in a less delicate manner.

The two women shivered in the cold, and Maura couldn't help but feel her skin grow numb. Jane ran her fingers up Maura's arm, and Maura shivered again, not because of the cold, but because of the sensation that began to ripple through her. She like the feeling of Jane's fingers against her numb skin.

Jane brought her fingers to Maura's cheeks and cupped her face, bringing them together again for another searing kiss.

Jane's weak legs forced her to lean onto Maura, and when they pulled away, Maura finally spoke, her voice shaky and nervous.

"I've been scared too, Jane. Terrified. You… You took a bullet for me, Jane…"

Jane opened her mouth and tried to speak, but Maura stopped her.

"No, Jane. I gave you your turn, now give me mine." Maura continued; "You took a bullet for me, Jane. You shot yourself for me, I know that. And I know that you have been waiting here every morning Jane. I know that. You… I… I had to watch h-him… take you away from me. I had to watch him put your own gun to your head. I had to… watch that bullet rip through you, Jane." Maura's voice became frantic and tears began to touch her eyes. "I buried you, Jane. We lowered you into the ground. We had a _funeral_. I c-can't… go through that again… I c-can't… bury you again… I can't go through another one of your funerals… I just… I can't… A-and… even more than that, I can't bear to be the reason for your dying… I thought it would be easier if I pulled away, and left you alone to be happy without me. Left your life… These feelings, Jane… They've terrified me because I'm afraid of watching you die… and I'm afraid of being the reason… I just… I can't do it again…"

"You listen to me right here, Maura Isles," said Jane. Her voice was husky. Strong. "Tell me to go. Tell me that you never want to see me again, and I will leave. I will never bother you ever again. Tell me that's what you want, Maura, and then I'll do it."

The feeling that ripped through Maura surprised her, and she was suddenly filled with an even deeper fear that had been lying in wait, simmering in the very bottom of her stomach. Her more shallower fears, the ones that had been rearing their ugly heads in Maura's mind constantly and without fail, had been pushing this one, deeper fear away. That she would never see Jane again. That she would never feel Jane embrace her. That she would never hear her voice again. That she would never feel that closeness ever again.

"No," she said, quietly. "T-that's not what I want. I want you, Jane."

"Good," whispered Jane, her voice still husky. "Because I need you, Maura Isles. I need you so bad it hurts."

"You'd have still put yourself through far too much, if I hadn't said, no, right? You would've still sat on that small little bench waiting for me. No matter what I had said."

"Of course, I would have."

"So then, the best solution would be to have the both of us happy, anyway?"

"Lookit you… being all smart."

They quietly laughed and kissed again, never once pulling their bodies away from the other.

"C'mon. Let's go home, Maura."

The doctor nodded and led them towards the incline they had both climbed. Maura turned to Jane.

"What you said about Schrodinger's cat… It was perfect. You were right Jane. About this… About us… I think I finally understand."

"Well you're the one who said it."

Maura crinkled her nose before speaking again; "Well, I might've made the point, but that _was _a gross oversimplification of the paradox presented by Schrodinger's cat… It's actually an attempt to refute a theory of Einstein's. It was in reference to the Copenhagen interpretation of…"

Jane stopped Maura short with another kiss.

"Just go with it, Maura," she whispered.

"Okay," the other woman replied, breathless.

"And hey… Guess what?"

"What?"

Jane took Maura's hand and put it against her wound, beneath her shirt and against the numb skin. She held the hand their with her own, scarred hands. She smiled, absolutely giddy with happiness, almost unable to believe what had just occurred. She recognized the same expression painted across the other woman's face.

"It doesn't hurt no more."

* * *

><p><strong>Haven't enjoyed writing a chapter as much as I enjoyed writing this one. Hope you all liked reading it as much as I liked writing it.<strong>

**Look forward to more.**


	20. The Good Times Are Killing Me

**I don't own anything.**

**The Good Times Are Killing Me - Modest Mouse**

**"In all affairs it's a healthy thing now and then to hang a question mark on the things you have long taken for granted." - Bertrand Russell**

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><p>Jane woke up, feeling absolutely ecstatic. She had brought Maura back to the apartment the night before, and the doctor had passed out as soon as she laid eyes on Jane's bed, exhausted from the day's events. It hadn't helped that the post-Thanksgiving weariness had begun to settle in both their stomachs. Gladly, Jane lowered Maura down into the bed before changing and slipping in herself. Maura had sensed the dip in the mattress and shifted over, snuggling into the curves of the detective's body.<p>

Jane had wrapped her arms around Maura's waist in response, Maura's warm scent filling the cavities in her nose and lungs. Caramel. Soft, milky caramel. Honey. Maura's skin. The warmth had filled her again, swirling through her bloodstream, mixing in. Smooth.

It didn't alarm her, at first, when she noticed that the bed was cold and empty. She could still see the imprint Maura's body had left on the mattress and sheets. The alarm hit her when Maura was nowhere to be found in the small apartment. She pulled herself out of the bed and into the wheelchair, cringing as the metal parts creaked and squeaked.

The bathroom? No. Kitchen? No. Living room? No. She felt the alarm dissipate slightly when she saw Maura's dressed neatly draped over a chair and found that a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants were missing from the dresser.

Jane grabbed a down Northface out from a rack and left the confines of her apartment, a knit hat tucked under her arm.

She left her gun on the counter.

* * *

><p>Maura Isles stared down at the white stone. She stood diagonal to it; she had never been able to stand directly in front of it. It unsettled her to know what would lie beneath her feet. <em>Who <em>would lie beneath her feet. Even when she had discovered otherwise, it still unsettled her. She hadn't thought that, once again, she would find herself standing before the stone.

She didn't notice when she felt long arms wrap around her waist.

"Hey," said the husky voice behind her.

Jane had left the wheelchair by the side of the street. The other day, she had only been able to manage five steps. Today, she had managed the entire distance to Maura alone. Without even the slightest wobble. Well with some wobble. But Jane knew that the strength was beginning to return to her legs, especially now that the pain in her side had taken a hiatus.

Maura frowned as the arms left her cold body, only to feel a down coat wrap around her shoulders. She put her arms through the sleeves, glad to feel Jane press against her again.

"Thought you knew better than to go out without a jacket. You'll catch a cold or something."

"Actually," Maura corrected, quietly. "It's a misconception that weather causes one to catch colds. Colds are caused by bacteria. Not by temperature."

Maura felt Jane chuckle behind her; "Well I still don't like the idea of you being cold. That still okay?"

"That's fine, Jane."

They stood together, swaying ever so slightly in the wind, as Maura looked down at the words that had been painstakingly etched into the stone. She followed the curves and sharp lines with her eyes, not once moving her head. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I'm sorry, Jane," she said. "I should've left you a note."

"S'alright. I still found you, didn't I?" muttered the other woman. "It's gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me, Maura Isles. Not going anywhere."

"How… how _did _you find me? How did you know I'd come here?"

"Just a hunch." Jane paused. "It's kinda weird. Looking at my tombstone. It's a little…"

"Unsettling?" finished Maura.

"Yeah. Unsettling. Never really saw the thing up close. You guys really went all out for me, huh?"

The inscription was simple, just as Jane would've liked it. There were no dates, no numbers, no fancy quotes. Only her name was etched in, the words "Boston City Detective" written in slightly smaller letters below it.

"It's simple," she continued. "I kinda like it."

"I'm glad you do, Jane," Maura whispered, her mind elsewhere.

"Hey. You okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Right, sure. C'mon Maura. Tell me."

Maura sighed; "I just… I've been coming here often. I don't know why, but I have. I even kept coming after I knew that it wasn't you buried down there. I still kept coming here. I just… They're exhuming here tomorrow, so we can properly ID her. I felt like I had to come here again."

"To say goodbye?"

"Oddly, yes."

Maura knelt down to the freshly placed flowers. Jane shifted, allowing her to do so, but keeping her arm draped across Maura's shoulders. The doctor fingered the petals of the bouquet. She had that face. Jane recognized it. Whenever Maura was in deep thought, she had that face. She wore it whenever she shopped for shoes on her computer.

"I thought I'd bring these by," Maura said. "Cyclamen. They used to say that if a woman in labor wore these, the delivery would accelerate. Which of course, isn't true, but it's fascinating. It means… resignation. Goodbye."

"And these?"

Jane pointed at the more eccentric flower, the orange and the red.

"Bird of paradise. It's native to South Africa."

"What does it mean?"

Maura looked up at Jane, measuring the woman in front of her; "Joyfulness. Magnificence… Anticipation _for _the magnificent. A celebration of a new beginning."

"Sounds… fitting. What about this one?"

"That… That's for you." Maura pulled the small flower from the vase and pushed it into Jane's hand. "It means… I can't live without you."

Jane brought Maura around into a kiss, pressing her lips into her, as if all she wanted to do was to give up oxygen and breathe Maura in instead. Maura did the same, desperately trying to increase the amount of physical contact; she had been without the detective for so long.

The two women stood up.

"It's beautiful, Maura. Thank you."

"I thought it would be… fitting. For the moment."

"You knew I'd find you, didn't you?"

"I can have hunches, too."

Jane looked deep into Maura's eyes; "I want this to work, Maura. I think… I think this is the only relationship I ever _really_ wanted to work. Everything else… I mean, they were fun. But I knew they all had an expiration date. I could feel it. But with you… I know everything's been really shitty. And bizarre. I want… I want to start over, Maura. I want to do this properly."

Maura nodded tentatively, unsure as to what it was Jane was trying to get at.

"What I'm trying to say is… I wanna… take you out first. Properly. I wanna take you out on a date, and I want us to have that feeling you get when you sit around waiting for that second one. I want you to have everything a relationship is supposed to be. It's beginning… It's everything… I want you to have that."

"Is this your way of asking me out?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess."

"Well then I suppose I'll have to say yes, won't I?"

"That would be nice."

"Well then, yes."

"Good. So what's gonna happen now is that I'm taking you home. In about seven hours, I'm going to come pick you up. That sound like it works out for you?"

"Yes, Jane. It does."

"Good. Now, c'mon. Let's get going."

The two made the trek back to Jane's wheelchair and Maura's car.

"Jane?"

"Yes?"

"You're walking."

"Huh. Well would you look at that?" Jane smiled down at Maura. "I don't know why, but… everything stopped hurting. I woke up, and none of it hurt. My left leg's still pretty weak but my right… Almost as good as new. It's weird."

"I'm sorry, Jane."

"Uh, thanks…" Jane stopped. "Wait, hold. Why are _you _sorry?"

"The pain… it must've been psychological. That's why it disappeared like that."

"You think you caused it, don't you?"

"Yes, a little."

"Well stop thinking that. It hurt cuz my brain was tryna get me off my ass and finally ask you out on a date. So don't you worry about that, okay?"

"Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. Thank you for waiting."

* * *

><p>The doctor looked down at the patient in front of him and sighed. It really was a pain in the ass whenever he had cops or military folk in his office. An honor, sure. But a huge pain in the ass.<p>

They have a trouble with the truth.

Not that they can help it. It's a cultural thing. A cultural thing civilians really don't understand. Not all of them anyway. The doctor shook is head. He really just preferred it when patients told him when things hurt and how they hurt, instead of just sucking it up and pretending like everything's just fine and dandy. Of course, there were always those patients who thought _everything_ was wrong. Some joint in the wrist would benignly crack and they'd think they'd have fucking _cancer_.

Sometimes they'd even start breaking down. In his office. On his nice chair.

He didn't like it.

Jane Rizzoli was nothing like the latter category. A cop. She was more like the first. Dr. Slucky had asked for him to work on the physical therapy side of things, and he had agreed. When he asked her, on the day she woke up, how her gunshot wound felt, she acted like the thing was a damn papercut.

The intern accompanying him was a little unnerved by this. Insisted that the detective had severe nerve damage around the wound, or had contracted some form of something or the other. No, no. Jane Rizzoli caught the case of being a damn cop. Which means, if she says it doesn't hurt, it probably hurts like a motherfucker.

"So how are you feeling, Jane?" he asked.

"Good. I'm great. Really."

"I don't know why I ask you that question, detective. That's the same exact answer you give me every time."

"Is there any other way I should be answering?"

The doctor ignored her; "You did well in physical therapy."

"Of course, I did well."

The doctor continued to ignore the sarcasm and addressed what lay beneath. He seemed to have gotten good at this over the years… communicating with cops. He looked down at his clipboard before speaking again; "Did anything happen recently?"

"What do you mean?"

"At work, detective. Or in your personal life."

Jane looked up at the doctor, a little annoyed; "Don't know why that's any of _your_ business, doc."

The doctor continued, again, to ignore Jane; "So I'm guessing, yes. Well that should explain it. I was a little baffled, at first, at your sudden improvement. But I suppose the entire thing simply could have been…"

"…Psychological. Yeah, I know. Somebody already talked it out with me."

"Yes. It was expected that you wouldn't have been able to walk for a significant period of time, considering the trauma caused in the muscle tissue, but you hadn't been able to properly walk for much longer than I expected." The doctor looked up to assess Jane. "I was a little alarmed, but there was really no reason to suspect permanent damage, so I _have _been suspecting that the pain was psychological."

"That all, doc?"

"I'm sorry. I should get to the point, shouldn't I?" He adjusted the seat of his glasses. "I'm taking you off the wheelchair. Though the pain seems to have disappeared, the muscle tissue in your legs are still weak from lack of use. Your right leg seems to have acclimated rather quickly but… We'll get you outfitted with crutches. That should get you walking again. It would be much better to start utilizing the muscles right away now that we know that there's no pain to worry about."

Jane let a large smile break across her face. All of this was good news.

"This day is _awesome_," she whispered, to herself.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, uh, nothing. Should I be meeting with Dr. _Slucky_ soon?"

The doctor smirked, well aware of the detective's dislike of the surgeon; "I'm afraid Dr. Slucky has is schedule packed this week. He can probably meet you this Friday, though. I'll check with him."

"You do that."

Jane Rizzoli stood up when the nurse handed her the crutches and cringed a little when she began to use them. She had had to use crutches… more than once in her long and storied life. She knew, like anyone who had ever actually had to use them, that she disliked them with a passion. She could already feel the skin beneath her shoulders begin to burn.

* * *

><p>Nerves began to eat at Jane. She had never been more nervous in her life. Well, maybe she had. But it didn't stop her from feeling incredibly jittery. She brought her fist up to the door three times, but didn't knock.<p>

She jumped when the door opened.

"Uh, hi," she said, giving a sheepish smile. "These are for you." She pushed the bouquet of flowers forward, looking away shyly. "You, uh… were saying all that stuff about flowers earlier. I, uh… thought these would be nice… and… uh…"

Maura laughed, allowing Jane to drop her fumbling words; "Thank you, Jane. They're lovely. Let me just get these in some water, and we'll go."

"Yeah… that sounds good…"

Jane watched as the doctor turned around to find a vase. Her eyes followed Maura's outline, beginning from the curls of her hair and ending at the immaculately shaped ankles. The dress fit the woman perfectly. It hadn't felt weird until that very moment. _This is Maura. This is your best friend. This is the woman you took a bullet for. This is _the_ woman, Rizzoli. This is her. This is Maura. Don't fuck this up. Don't fuck this up_. Jane repeated the words in her head over and over and over again.

"Are you going to come in, Jane?"

Suddenly Jane realized that she hadn't been breathing. She took in a sharp gulp and walked in, closing the door behind her. Yes. It suddenly felt weird. It felt surreal, too. As if, in a moment, everything would disappear in a flash, and Jane would be back in the concrete room with Hoyt, and Maura would be on the other side of a TV screen, believing that Jane was dead.

So much had happened. So much had happened to keep them apart, and suddenly… Finally… They were here. Together.

With flowers.

About to go out on a _first _date.

She was wearing a _suit_, for Christ's sake.

What was the word? Surreal. It felt surreal. Like a dream.

Maura glowed as she admired the flowers, that were now leaning in the crystal vase. She looked up at Jane's nervous eyes and gave an equally nervous smile.

"Should we, uh, go now?" asked Jane shyly.

"Yes. Lets."

Maura left the apartment first, allowing the detective to follow her. Had Jane been able to, at that exact moment, see Doctor Maura Isles' face, she would've known that Maura had been thinking the exact same thoughts.

But none of it mattered.


	21. Anything For You

**I still don't own anything.**

**Anything For You - Ludo**

**"Shall we rest contented with these two relations of contiguity and succession, as affording a complete idea of causation? By no means... there is a _necessary connexion _to be taken into considerations." - David Hume**

* * *

><p>Stephen Crane once wrote of the inherent futility of man, of that strange stranger who desperately beat against the earth in that equally strange attempt to capture the horizon within the net of his fingers. Stephen Crane once wrote of the stupidity of man, of those ordinary workmen who built that admirable mason ball atop a hill. He wrote of the stupidity of man and killed them with his pen.<p>

Shake your head at the stupidity of human beings. Shake your head at their unshakable desire for the futile. Shake your head and walk away.

Shake your head and ignore.

For mankind is irrational. Unworthy of nature. Unnoticed by the vast universe, for people are only fractions of fractions of fractions in comparison. Shake your head and forget the most important thing of all. That everything that happens, no matter how small, no matter how minor, is a thermodynamic miracle. A miracle worthy to be written about in books. Occurrences of_ astronomical_ improbability.

David Hume once claimed that causation may very well not exist. The idea that one event causes another simply because they follow one another, he said, is false. Night follows Day. But can we ever truly say that Day causes Night? We may speculate. Always we may speculate. The pen has, in the past, fallen every time it has been dropped. It must drop the next time. And the next. And the next. Simply because it has been observed to have done so before. We vilify cause. Glorify it. And yet, we have never once found it. Confirmed its existence.

* * *

><p>"We're really here, aren't we? Doing this."<p>

Maura looked up at Jane, quizzically; "Of course, we are. We're physical beings, sharing a space relative to each other. We _are _doing this. I don't understand what you're getting at, Jane."

"I'm just nervous. That's all. Can't believe we've actually gotten to get this far," Jane said, chuckling and feeling better because of Maura's quirky reaction.

"You're afraid?"

"A little," Jane muttered. "I just don't want to mess this up, you know?"

"After all that has happened, it would be strange if you didn't feel a little nervous. Or afraid," said Maura, completely unsure as to what to say, and as she watched Jane shift uncomfortably, she knew she didn't like what she had chosen.

"Guess you're right," muttered Jane again. "Well, here's an idea. We don't talk about all that crap that went down before. We can talk about it later. But not now. Not tonight. Tonight we start over. How's that?"

"That sounds like it works."

Maura was glad that she had dodged that and secretly thanked Jane for having the foresight to come up with her rather haphazard solution to the whole ordeal. She, as much as Jane, wanted to this to work. With all her heart. This was new. Incredibly new. And it terrified her. But it was a good terrified her. She internally thanked Jane again.

"You're welcome," she whispered.

"You're also afraid this date isn't going to be as enjoyable as you thought, aren't you?" said Maura, speaking up.

"Yeah, kinda."

"Like you've built up an image after all this time, and it's only an image?"

"Yeah. You know. Kinda like… the Great Gatsby, or something."

"Jane!"

"Yeah, what?"

"You just quoted something intelligible. Not just one of your movies or some athlete interview."

"Hey, I read the Great Gatsby in high school. It was the only thing I really got. Didn't get the Scarlet Letter. God that thing was complicated. Had no idea what was going on. Didn't like it."

"Jane, Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter was a masterpiece."

"Didn't get it." Jane paused before smiling and wrapping her free arm around Maura. "You know what?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not really that nervous any more."

Maura smiled as she felt Jane lean into her, their bodies molding together.

"And why not?"

"Well this feels good. We feel good. Like… before. It's a hunch."

"I don't like your hunches, Jane. Not enough empirical evidence."

"Nah, you no me," smirked the detective, scrunching her nose. "I don't do empirical. I got my own science. Just for me."

"Oh, do you, now?"

"Yeah," remarked Jane, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's called Rizzoli Science. I'll buy you a textbook. BCU probably didn't think to teach you it. It's kinda a shame. You've been missing out."

"Well I suppose I won't be missing out for much longer."

"No," whispered Jane. "You won't."

The walked down the concrete in a comfortable silence. They had reached a main road, and Jane was still wrapped around Maura. People were walking around them, and they could hear their conversations, their lives. They listened in, letting their happenings mingle with theirs.

It made all of this all the more real.

All the more tangible.

"You're really enjoying that cane, aren't you?" asked Maura.

"'Course I am. It's badass." She lifted it up as proof, showing off the racecar flames that were painted on the wood. "It's got fire on it."

Maura laughed before leaning in deeper into Jane; "You would choose the one with fire on it."

"They tried to put me up in crutches. No way. Nuh-uh. No way was that happening. I told them if I had to be walking around with some sorta stupid aid, it was gonna be a badass stupid aid. With fire on it."

"Did you really say that?"

"You really think that I didn't?"

Maura laughed again; "You're right, Jane. It would be stupid of me to think otherwise."

Jane breathed in; "Well, I missed us. I missed this. This is nice."

"I missed this, too," admitted Maura.

"We're here," smiled Jane.

Maura looked around, a little confused at first. The confusion was overtaken by understanding. And then my amazement. She looked up at the detective smiling down at her. She could only imagine what her own expression looked like. Apparently it was what Jane had been going for. Her heart pulled when she saw Jane flash her a Rizzoli smile.

"Thought about booking a table at some fancy pants place. But… You know. Thought that'd be something you're used to going to. I wanted to, uh, make this special. So I thought of this. It all worked out nice and good in my head… And I had a better speech… Uh, whatever. C'mon."

* * *

><p>A coin is flipped. Heads. Again it is flipped. Heads. Once more the coin is flipped. Heads. And it is flipped again and again. A million times it is flipped. Heads. Heads. Heads. Never does it land on tails. Is the coin loaded? No. Is the coin a cheat? Check; it is not. Don't worry; it is, after all, a possibility that a fair and equal coin might land on heads without fail. Not probable.<p>

But, a possibility.

Should we say, then, that the coin will once again land on heads? The coin will be flipped tomorrow. Is it known that this fair and equal coin _must _and _will _land with the printed head facing the sky?

Would that be science?

The pen is dropped. And it falls. Again it is dropped. It falls. Once more it is dropped. It falls. And it is dropped again and again. A million times it is dropped. It falls. It falls. It falls. Never does it remain suspended in the air. Never does it shoot up towards the sky. Don't worry; it is, after all, a possibility that a fair and equal pen might fall without fail.

A possibility.

Should we say then, that the pen will once again fall? The pen will be dropped tomorrow. Is it known that this fair and equal pen _must _and _will_ fall? Simply because it has done so every time before?

Would that be science?

* * *

><p>"Pop used to take me, Tommy, and Frankie here when we were little. Couldn't afford Sox tickets, so we'd always come here…" Jane looked at Maura, suddenly nervous again. "You know, I booked us a table at some fancy restaurant. We could go there, if you want…"<p>

Maura shook her head and Jane visibly relaxed; "No, I want to see what Jane Rizzoli has planned for the night.

Jane smiled and turned to the man sitting in the booth labeled "Tickets."

"Two," she said.

"You know the drill, detective. That's fourteen dollars."

"You come here often?"

Jane nodded as she handed over the money and received two cheap looking tickets in return; "Yeah. Pop stopped taking us 'round when I turned fifteen. I started coming back after a year of walking the beat. They're the only minor league team in Boston."

"Boston Hellfighters," murmured Maura, as she fingered one of the tickets. Jane watched the fascinated pair of eyes. "The Harlem Hellfighters were quite a distinguished regiment during the first World War… you know, they…"

"Alright there, Google. Settle down."

Maura continued her history lesson anyway, rambling about the exploits of the one particular regiment who shared their nickname with the small time baseball team filling the field.

"Well these guys… They're a rookie team for the Yankees," explained Jane.

"In Boston?" Maura asked, confused. Even she knew these little nuances.

"Yeah, I dunno why, either. C'mon. Let's find grab something to eat and find a place to sit."

Jane moved her hand slowly and shyly to lightly grasp Maura's. The latter felt a blush rise up in her cheeks, and she shivered as she felt Jane's other hand instinctively run her thumb across the side of her face. There it was again. The sensation of Jane's fingers against her numb skin.

She felt joy creep into her heart as Jane guided her through the thin crowd.

"Hey there, detective!" smiled a large man from behind a counter.

"Hey, Vic."

"We missed you at the beginning of the season!"

"Yeah well…" Jane turned to Maura giving her a shy smile. "I was a little busy, you know?"

"You cops. Well let me guess. You're here for the usual?"

"Uh, that depends." Jane turned to Maura again. "What do you want?"

"I trust you, Jane."

She smiled and ran her thumb across the back of Jane's hand and internally squealed when she saw the detective shiver, swallow, and completely lose her train of thought. Mist left the taller woman's lips sporadically.

"Detective?" asked Victor, clearly enjoying himself.

"Yeah, uh, sorry. Um, just get us… two of what I usually get and…" Jane gave Maura an apologetic look. "They only have beer."

"I like your beer."

Jane smiled at the distant memory, of convincing Maura to taste some of the beer. The ME had downed the liquid almost as quickly as Jane had tried to down the one-hundred-dollar-a-glass champagne.

"Get us two Rogue Irish Lagers, Vic."

"Always a good choice, detective."

The two found their seats on the bleachers and looked out at the players, clad in pinstripes, warming up beneath the large field lights. Maura peeled back the aluminum and the waxed paper that wrapped around her dinner. The slight apple-y taste of the lager still swirled in her mouth when she took a bite.

"Oh my."

Jane turned her head beside her, a slice of chicken hanging from her own lips; "You like it?"

"This is delicious, Jane."

She laughed as she watched the doctor take another bite.

"Vic's been making falafels here for ages. I have no idea what he does when it isn't baseball season, but he's always here. Best falafel on the East Coast."

Maura didn't answer. Her eyes were closed as she leaned back and chewed, swirling the flavors around on her tongue.

"How often do you come here, Jane?"

"I dunno. A lot. I come here… when I get that burnt-out feeling, you know? These guys are just a bunch of rookies… They're not even the better Yanks rookie team. They're underrated and most of these guys won't make it through the system, but here they are anyway. Playing ball. And the _fans, _Maura. There aren't a lot of us, but… You'll see when more people start coming in. We're all a bunch of Sox fans and this team here's all up with the Yanks. Nothing matters. It feels right, you know?"

Maura nodded; "It feels… nice here. I'm glad you took me here, Jane. It's lovely. All of it."

Jane did nothing more than smile, unsure as to how to receive a compliment. She fidgeted sheepishly, allowing Maura to correctly gauge Jane's reaction as a thanks.

"You know what's funny? If these guys had any other team behind them… Like Tampa or the Dodgers or something… I don't think most of us would be here cheering them on."

"Well," started Maura, and Jane immediately knew the other woman was about to start another one of her lessons. The detective silently watched, once again reminded why it was she loved this woman. "Yankees and Red Sox fans do carry with them a sense of superiority over other teams… The two teams do have the best of everything. Including one of the best rivalries, and…"

Jane laughed and wrapped an arm around Maura, inching the two woman closer. Maura stopped and reflexively snuggled into the other woman.

"You don't have to stop," Jane whispered.

"Well," started Maura again, trying to keep her composure. "The best teams… choose the best… rivals… And…"

Frustrated, Maura stopped again, choosing to instead place her lips on Jane's.

They stopped only when they realized that the players were beginning to fill into their respective positions, and that other fans had filled in around them. The Hellfighters's starting pitcher waved at the fans who joyfully roared back in return. They had all risen to their feet.

Jane set the cane behind her and stood behind Maura, placing all of her weight on her good leg. As the first pitch flew over the base and into the catcher's fat mitt, Jane wrapped her arms around Maura's waist and rested her chin on the top of Maura's head.

She smiled as she felt the other woman lean in.

* * *

><p>So perhaps Hume was correct in his words. Perhaps causation does not exist. But for hundreds of years, for thousands of years, for millions of years, the world has been one way. We have seen it for ourselves. The pen has been dropped and it has fallen. Perhaps Hume was correct. Perhaps the pen might not fall the next time it is dropped.<p>

But for a thousand years, it has.

It must be probable then, that the pen must continue to fall.

After all, the pen has been falling.

But is it not true that each individual event is, in fact, individual? A common occurrence does not make an event fact. It also, however, does not make an event probable.

So perhaps Hume was correct. The pen has been falling.

But truly understand the consequences of his theory, take in account the probabilities, as they should be.

* * *

><p>The crowd was silent as the opposing team's closer wound up for another pitch. The Hellfighters were down three points in the bottom of the last inning. Two outs. Three balls. Two strikes. Although there had been five other pitches, all of which had been fouls.<p>

It had taken Jane what seemed like forever to explain to Maura how the whole system worked, why the foul counted as a strike, but why the foul that would have been the third strike did not, in fact, count as a strike.

"That's just a lack of consistency," Maura had complained, a little tipsy from her second lager.

"Well if that had been the third strike, we would've lost the game, right?"

"Yes…"

"So let's just go with it, okay?" Jane had said – smiling – clearly pleased with herself.

Every fan was still in the fans and only a small number had left the bleachers to go home. There were a good number of major league teams that couldn't even dream of matching the retention rate this late into the game. But the crowd was silent. Maura was silent, warmth filling her chest as she placed her arms over the ones wrapped around her waist.

Two balls, three strikes, and two outs. But the Hellfighters had given them hope, loading the bases with runners that seemed ready to spring forward at first opportunity.

They waited.

The ball left the pitcher's hand. A slider.

Another foul.

Someone gave the ball to the catcher, and he threw it back to the pitcher. He seemed menacing beneath the fluorescent lights

The ball left his hand again, and his arm looked like rubber.

And there it was. The crack.

No one moved. They only shifted their heads and eyes to follow the path of the small baseball. They all knew where it was going. When it sailed past the fence, the suspended world seemed to erupt. Explode. Fans hugged each other. Players ran out of the dugout.

Jane turned Maura around and kissed her.

"That was exhilarating," breathed Maura, blushing from the sudden kiss.

She hardly noticed Jane leading her down the steps of the bleachers, towards the field. She hardly noticed one of the Hellfighters (later she would discover that that second basemen was an old high school friend of Frankie) nod to Jane, letting the two onto the field itself.

She had never told anyone this, but baseball fields had always fascinated her. The green grass that always seemed so even. The crisp white lines. The smooth dirt that always seemed to be that most beautiful color of brown.

"Mind keeping the lights on?" asked Jane, calling out to one of the players.

"Sure thing, detective."

Jane fitted a mitt on Maura's hand.

"You know how you said you never learned to play ball as a kid?"

"Yes, I do," said Maura, slightly confused.

Jane stepped behind Maura, still placing all her weight on her good leg. Maura shivered as she felt the detective's breath graze over the skin around her neck. Jane wrapped her fingers lightly around Maura's arms and guided her through the motions of throwing a baseball. She placed one of the muddied balls into Maura's throwing hand.

She pointed towards the player that had let them on the field. He waved, his own mitt snug on his hand.

"Alright, now let's throw to him, alright?"

Maura nodded, nervous as she rolled the baseball around in her hand, running her index finger across the red seam. She threw the ball, Jane still behind her, guiding her, pressed up against her.

She laughed without abandon as she watched the ball sail towards the man in pinstripes. The laugh quickly died down when she realized that he was lightly winding up to toss the ball back.

"Jane," she said, nervously. "He's throwing back."

"Then we'll catch it," whispered Jane. "It's okay. I'm right behind you."

The ball floated to the two woman, and Jane guided Maura through the catch. She had placed one of her hands behind the mitt and when they both felt the satisfying thunk of the ball hitting leather, Jane squeezed, assuring that the ball wouldn't fall out.

They stayed like that, catching and throwing together, until it was deemed that Maura could begin to competently do it on her own. She frowned when she felt Jane's body leave hers, but smiled again when she saw Jane pick up her own mitt, taking the player's place.

They continued to catch and throw in the green grass of the outfield, swimming in the crisp, autumn East Coast air, beneath the lights that illuminated them brightly in the night.

Later, they would put the ball and mitt away, and Jane would go over to turn the field lights off. Together they would leave for Maura's apartment, and when they arrived, they would stand together and stare at each other breathlessly.

And Jane would lean in for a kiss.

And Maura would let her kiss her.

* * *

><p>Does not the pen have an infinite amount of choices to choose? The pen might choose to fall. It might choose to do the opposite. It might fly forward, or back. It might stay, floating in the air. It might disintegrate and turn to dust. It might implode. Or explode. It might turn into a lion, or a bear, or into those other millions of things we have never even seen before.<p>

But multiply those odds by the odds every single other pen in the world that has ever been dropped in the course of human history choosing the action to fall. Multiply the infinite amount of different possibilities by an equally infinite amount of different possibilities. Keep multiplying until every pen has been accounted for.

Now multiply _those _odds by the astronomical odds of every other seemingly commonplace occurrence. Like an airplane staying in the air. Like Night following Day. Like the sequence of our seasons. Like a balloon flying up into the sky. Like a compass pointing North. Like ice melting into water.

Keep multiplying those odds until every other seemingly commonplace occurrence has been accounted for.

And consider that number.

* * *

><p><strong>i know i took a while to update this baby. s'all good. i'm back on the horse. the reviews have been real great. and helpful. :)<strong>

**also wanna take this little end time to put in a word for the thirty SEALS of Team Six who lost their lives recently. it's moments like these where i've got this bittersweet pride for all my other fellow Americans. it also makes me sad, though, that we don't get as much noise around the Lance Corporal or the 2nd Lieutenant or that airman or petty officer who also make the ultimate sacrifice. so this is me, i guess, pulling for everyone who goes out there.**

**jaigagne - really grateful you've managed to get around to this story on personal time. don't know much about the army but i'm guessing there isn't a whole lot of it? well me i got my eyes set on parris island and MCT (i'm more of an oorah girl). we'll see how all that goes haha**

**more rizzles to come.**


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